Signs
by Eyewittness
Summary: Pre-film. A spin-off centering on one of the characters, Jan. He doesn't know what awaits him. The participants of the training course are not aware of one another's existence yet. But there's not too much time left until the experiment begins...
1. Chapter 1

**Signs**

_Written and translated into English by _Eyewittness

_Betaed by _SurefirePhoenix

_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except for a couple of characters created by me and my weird imagination._

_**Warning: **OC, violence, spoilers._

_**A/N: **This story is not related to the movie of the same name, so any similarity is coincidence. This translation of the title seems the most accurate to me._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

**Autumn 1985**

September turned out to be unstable, one day shining with almost summer warmth and another raining cats and dogs. During the three weeks that passed the weather was so unpredictable in its variety that if it suddenly began snowing, most likely nobody would be surprised. Today it was cool and cloudy outside, sudden gusts of wind ripped the yellowing leaves from the trees, threw them on the sidewalk, and whirled them in pools.

From the railway station the distant hum of a departing train could barely be heard – faint like a fading recollection vanishing from memory, it could be mistaken for something else such was the distance between the station and the surrounding area, transforming the sounds across the distance as they moved on the wind around the obstacles of houses and trees – out there where there's the railway embankment and rails run out towards the horizon. From time to time train whistles could be heard – alarming, long; here, at this distance, all the insistence and sharpness disappeared, their echo merging with the sound of the wind, dissolving in the air, seeming to call out to you, and sometimes you felt a great wish to obey the call.

Leaving the schoolyard, he often heard those whistles and the clatter of wheels muffled by the distance. But they never caused such a vague alarm as in autumn.

He wanted the winter to come sooner. That's the more stable season at least. In winter you feel calmer, especially when it snows. Snow covers everything like a blanket, and it becomes somewhat more comfortable, in spite of cold.

The thoughts about winter hadn't left him since he opened the closet that morning and bumped into his skis that sat right behind the door. He was still half asleep at the time and had hurt his arm. His mother, who hadn't left for work yet, peeped out into the corridor.

"Honza, what are you looking for?"

"The jacket," he answered, wincing slightly.

"Which jacket?"

"The warm one."

"Why do you want it now? You'll be hot in it."

"No, I won't. I'll unbutton the lining for now."

"OK, as you wish. Oh, where did I put the car keys again?"

Those were the words he heard almost every morning; there were very few weekdays when he didn't. For him that question had become one of those trifles you don't pay attention to anymore (because Mom always asked it rhetorically), but if he didn't hear it life would seem to be somewhat lacking something.

Unbuttoning the lining he remembered their neighbour. He was a mocker who was mad either on politics, or on history, or maybe on both things at once, who, seeing him in this jacket would surely say "Oh, that's Jan playing anarchist again" and suchlike. The jacket was black on the outside and red on the inside, with red zippers crossing the sleeves, three stripes on each one. Usually Jan didn't answer to these remarks at all. Such mild teasing had also become somewhat ordinary to him. Probably it would last until he grew out of the jacket. Or lost it somewhere.

The man usually grinned at Jan, convinced that the boy just didn't get him since he never reacted. But Jan did. Well, he knew that black and red were the colours of anarchists, but the thing was that such characterisation didn't fit him at all. He was no anarchist. Anarchists, they were always active, always protesting against something, and he followed the tide whenever possible. So, who speaks about misunderstandings here?

…It began drizzling and Jan was glad that he had his jacket. There wasn't a long way left to go, but without it he would've been drenched by now.

People were hurrying around him; nobody paid much attention to the pensive senior pupil with a schoolbag hanging from his shoulder, as he splashed through pools, hands in his pockets, head slightly down. But then – what was there to pay attention to? Jan was just going home. Yes, he preferred to say "home", not "visiting". After all, he could have two homes, couldn't he?

People that he met on his way didn't know that he had been walking like this for almost two hours already. Not very quickly, but persistently he was striding through the wind and rain, not taking the bus or the metro out of principle. He wanted to get really tired so that he could sleep calmly today, without waking from strange dreams and sad thoughts in the middle of the night. It happened more and more often lately. Jan didn't know himself what was worrying him. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary, but he still couldn't find peace and didn't know what to do with himself.

To his surprise, his Mom had offered to pick him up after classes and drive him "home", but he refused – there was no need. He'd answered that he would take the metro, and even brought his season ticket and put it in his pocket to seem convincing. He'd said that he would come back Sunday evening then left.

Taking a long walk and being alone for some time – maybe that would help?

…

He entered the house and went up to the second floor. The familiar door appeared before him, much more seldom than he wanted it to. It would be so great if he could come here every weekend…

Reaching the landing he brushed the raindrops off his bag and jacket, wiping his cheeks automatically with the back of his palm. His bangs were wet, the tips falling into his eyes, as always, but as always he didn't notice it at all. His long hair, straight as straw, and of the same fair colour, didn't darken with age, though everybody kept telling him that it would definitely happen at some point. Right now, however, it was indeed slightly darker than usual, and the tips of strands bent a little, due to the damp air and drizzling rain. Jan didn't have the habit of flicking his bangs out of his eyes or running his hand through his hair like those with long or unruly hair often did. He observed the outside world through his fair strands thoughtfully and a bit absently; it added some childishness and naivety to his appearance, though he was pretty tall and at first sight could seem a couple of years older than he actually was.

Jan took a key out of his inner pocket and inserted it into the keyhole. Or rather he tried to...and failed.

At first he thought that his Dad had changed the locks, but then thought it was absurd. Why would he invite his son for the weekend then change the locks, without telling him or giving him a new key? However, that kind of thing was not totally unexpected on his Dad's side. He could be too absorbed with his own matters and forget about the obvious.

But then he realized that it was all his own fault. Just today, at the very beginning of his little journey, he dropped the damned key on the street and it got stuck in the drain. After fiddling quite a lot Jan had managed to pull it out, but he damaged it in the process. So here he was – he couldn't enter the apartment until his Dad came home.

He was very angry with himself and nearly cried because of his own helplessness. Of course he could have a copy of the key made, but where?.. He couldn't boast of any thorough knowledge of this part of the city. And even if he did, so what? When you desperately needed this kind of help, you could never find it anywhere near. He'd planned to arrive earlier, to make dinner, and maybe even do something about the house (and there _were_ things to do for sure). He'd hoped to please his Dad. And now, because of his own clumsiness, he had to hang around at the door. He didn't even admit to the possibility of returning back to Mom. No. It was out of the question.

Jan slowly rubbed his eyes and sat on a windowsill. There were two apartments on the second floor, and two windows, at opposite ends of the landing. For some reason he chose the window close to someone else's door, hoping that whoever lived there was already at home and won't crawl out any more that day. He'd had enough socializing to last him until next week.

Next week… Maybe it would be better than this one? This week had turned out to be kind of hard – hard to concentrate during classes, hard to get up in the morning, one glance at the alarm clock had been enough to make him depressed. Almost every time he'd been called out to the blackboard he had a great desire to snap and to ask to be left alone.

In general, it was pretty easy for him to study, and he didn't quite understand why studies caused so much trouble and pain for a lot of students. As for him, he got on well at school and was often asked for the loan of his homework to copy, because those who addressed him knew he wouldn't refuse them. He was neither a crammer nor an A-student. Probably, he was just too soft. It was difficult for him to say no to somebody. However, he was seldom pointed because of it. He couldn't even remember the last time that happened. Most people just noted that in spite of some aloofness and self-consciousness he was nice and not at all hard to deal with.

It _was _like that until recently. But now Jan felt that he'd begun to change; it was becoming more and more difficult for him to remain the same. So, did it mean that he was himself before, but now he was acting, pretending to be somebody else? Perhaps, others would soon notice too. It was most likely they wouldn't attach any great importance to it and say that it was all due to his teenage years. Of course, yeah, what else could it be?

Pressing his forehead against the window he looked down into the yard below.

Wet asphalt, parked cars already covered with fallen green-yellow leaves, a woman walking the dog, a swing and a sandbox, a newspaper dropped or thrown away by someone just a moment ago. It wasn't even wet yet, or maybe the rain had stopped? Huge letters of the headline, black against the white sheet. If he strained his eyes, he could even manage to read it. Yes, it was yesterday's paper; his mom brought the same issue from work.

He closed his eyes, and the black letters imprinted on his retina slowly vanished into the darkness. It was very quiet here; an agreeable smell of roasted fish and fries reached his nose from behind somebody's door. It would be cosy to sit here if it wasn't for his wet sneakers. Maybe if he put his feet on the radiator they'd get drier?..

"Falling asleep?"

He opened his eyes with a start. After his long walk across the autumn city he felt he could fall asleep in the warmth of the landing.

A mere metre from him, on the bottom step of the stairs leading up the landing, stood a girl. His age, perhaps… at least she looked like the majority of girls in his class did; dressed in a white windbreaker, her brown hair was arranged in a tight ponytail; in her look he could see a mixture of slight puzzlement and interest. Interest seemed to prevail. Jan was so deep in his thoughts that he couldn't say for sure whether she had come down from the upper floor or come up from street level. He hadn't heard a door close either, from above or from below. Some people were really good at sneaking. His cat walked with louder steps.

He shrugged vaguely. Somebody else would have blurted something witty out in his place for sure, but he just didn't know what to say.

"Oh, I've seen you already."

"Err… what, today?"

"No, of course not today. Before. So, do you live here?"

"No." Jan turned away towards the window again. His voice sounded hoarse after his long period of silence. He couldn't remember whether he'd seen this girl before or not. He hadn't been here for a while.

"Waiting for someone?"

"For my Dad."

Her face suddenly lit up with emotion.

"You're Jan, aren't you?"

"I am." He was surprised, but didn't show that. Answering "I am" with a half-interrogative intonation, Jan looked at the girl, waiting for her to continue.

Maybe his terse answers and scowl could seem not exactly gracious, but then, nobody forced her to start a conversation with him. Who kept her from just passing by?

She smiled, probably at her own shrewdness.

"Hi. I'm Irena."

With these words she crossed the stairway and went down, a hand on the banister. Obviously, she wasn't going to explain how she happened to know him.

Jan watched her go feeling perplexed. All his thoughts and feelings could now fit into three words: "What was that?"

Well, as if it really mattered…

His mood spoiled completely, he wanted to leave the staircase, to be in the apartment, to sit in the kitchen or in the room in the dimmed light with a mug of hot chocolate, and then to read some fascinating book – dad had plenty of them – or to watch a movie, it was Friday, after all, and he'd seen several interesting titles for today in the TV program – anything goes as long as it could help him avoid the sense of being lost and unwanted, the sense he was too familiar with, and save him from falling into the abyss of hopelessness and desperation. He felt, almost physically, how time passed, how the second hand moved in pushes along the clock face, carrying the minute and the hour away, too…

Pity he didn't take any book with him. But how could he have known that he would be sitting here? He was close to going into the yard to pick up that dirty paper… Ugh, what an idiotic thought! He felt disgust and embarrassment as if somebody had already caught him picking up the paper and made a laughing-stock of him.

"Oh, you're still here?"

It was that strange girl again. What was her name, Irena? This time she went upstairs loaded with two packs of biscuits, a bottle of mineral water, a magazine, and something else Jan didn't bother to make out. She was carrying all this pressing it against her chest.

"Ah, you left the key at home."

"And what have you left – the bag, or the shame?"

He heard a note of contempt in his own voice, though he really didn't intend to insult Irena. She didn't do anything bad to him. And she hadn't lost her shame at all. There were just plenty of people who were much more sociable than he was. Now she'll get offended, glare at him indignantly, say something sharp in his face and disappear upstairs. Quite predictable.

Irena laughed, with a natural, sincere sound.

"Yes, I often forget about it. About the bag, I mean. That's why I carry everything like this. Mom always gets mad at me, the cashier just gapes, and people in the street offer their help. Wait a moment, I'll take everything home and be back."

She went on up without waiting for the answer. "Don't." Jan wanted to say to her back, but something restrained him from it. He got down from the windowsill and shoved his hands into his pockets. Maybe it would be better to go somewhere else just to kill time. He'd walked enough today, but still… Otherwise neighbours may begin gossiping that his father didn't want to let him in. As for himself, he didn't care much, but his Dad may feel uncomfortable because of it.

"Leaving?"

Again? Did she do it on purpose?

"Could you not sneak up to me like this?"

"Sorry."

"Yes, I'm leaving."

"Pity you left the key at home."

"I didn't leave it."

"Lost?"

"Broke."

"Broke? Hmm, show it to me."

"What for?"

"Please, just show it to me."

Jan sighed heavily, realising that he couldn't get rid of her so easily, and took the damned key out of his pocket. Took it by both ends and turned its edge towards her.

"See, it's bent. That's why it doesn't go into the lock."

"What did you do with it – open cans?"

"Not funny."

"Yes, you're right, that's not funny. Give it to me."

"Huh?"

"I said, give it to me."

Jan gazed fixedly at Irena. Despite his usual reticence he was about to tell her everything he thought of her – and couldn't avert his glance. He was looking into the deep-blue eyes with long, slightly curly lashes. How come he didn't notice at once that she had such wonderful eyes? And she was smiling in a very friendly manner. At him.

Mesmerized, he held out his hand without a word.

"Wait here. Don't leave, I'll be back soon."

And she went upstairs again. The closing door clicked slightly overhead. Jan shut his eyes as tight as he could, because he didn't want to see neither the dull staircase, nor the yard beyond the window. It was just the face of that stranger he wanted to hold in his memory without missing a single trait. Was it appropriate to call someone you already knew by name a stranger? But then, he didn't know anything else about her.

He couldn't say how much time has passed. Time didn't exist anymore.

And then Irena appeared again.

"Here you are. Try to open again."

Jan took the key from her – it was warm, almost hot – and inserted it into the lock. This time it fit easily. Two turns, and the door was open.

"Thank you," he said, astounded.

"You are welcome. Now go home and have a rest, you look exhausted."

She touched his sleeve gently, smiled and went back to her own place.

…

In the dusk and silence of the deserted apartment Jan hung his jacket on the coat-rack, placed his sneakers close to the radiator and shuffled towards the kitchen. He turned towards the bathroom on his way, and there, warming his hands under the enjoyably hot water running from the sink tap, glanced in the mirror. Did he really look exhausted? He didn't know. He saw his own face in the mirror every day and couldn't tell whether he changed or not. Everything in its place. Light coloured eyes. Very fair and soft hair covering his ears and falling to the collar of his shirt. When summer comes, his hair would become brighter, as if absorbing sunny rays. Bangs, always long, down to the eyes and lower. Pale face, but maybe just his skin was very white. Did he ever look different? Well, not counting the fact that he had grown much during the past year. Not so long ago he turned the sleeves of his shirt and his jeans up, and now this shirt and jeans would soon be too short for him. He was probably as tall as his dad now.

Oh, by the way. Dad will come soon. It wouldn't hurt to make dinner before he comes.

In the kitchen Jan examined the fridge contents. There sat a foil-covered platter with pieces of fried chicken. Great. Even better than he expected. For sure, there are potatoes too. Boil them and then dinner is ready.

While he was busy with the potatoes and green beans found in the freezer it got completely dark outside. Having finished with the cooking, he poured some hot tea into a cup and settled down at the table, sitting on one stool with his feet on another. His thoughts returned to that weird girl, Irena. He realized that he wanted her to touch his sleeve again, to look into his eyes intently… And he wished to take her by the hand, to hug her in response… though he knew too well that he would never dare to. He huddled up embracing his knees, as if from cold, though it was very warm in the kitchen.

What was wrong with him? His classmates chatted with girls so easily, they dated them, and he wouldn't dare to approach any girl if there was any romantic interest involved. If it wasn't involved, that was another matter, but the thing was that in most cases they began to giggle and to make eyes at him, which embarrassed him and he didn't know how to behave. And even if he did approach first, what then? He's too quiet and reserved, they are not interested in him, he'll simply be told to buzz off. And he'd leave silently, shrugging his shoulders, outwardly calm and indifferent, but in reality torn with pain, resentment, and disappointment. He couldn't express his feelings properly, but that didn't mean he had no feelings at all. Jan realized that sooner or later he won't be able to bear this any longer and would simply break down. And he feared that, feared himself, feared the future.

Until quite recently life seemed almost serene to him, and only a couple of years ago did it became clear that it was far from it. It was impossible to live with both parents, he had to be constantly torn between them; Mom and Dad both wanted him to choose, but he would never be able to make such a choice! Ten years ago he was left with his Mom according to the court's decision; nobody asked him of course, he didn't remember that at all, but now he had the right to make his own choice. Well, he had the right, but to take advantage of that right was too much for him. If only those talks could be avoided tonight.

The apartment door opened and closed softly. Jan stood up and peered into the hall.

His father stood there and rummaged through his own bag without even taking his coat off. To Jan it seemed that he just wanted to conceal the awkwardness of the meeting. He felt awkward himself as if he came to a complete stranger's place and was making himself at home. To get rid of the feeling he stepped forward and held out his hand.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hello, Honzik."

They exchanged a handshake.

"How're things?"

"OK. Dad, let's go have dinner."

They ate in silence – Jan felt ill at ease, which spoiled his appetite a bit. He saw that his Dad had the similar feeling. Probably, they would never be able to have a normal conversation, because they were both too unsociable and what was the point in denying that? Each of them was too fixed on himself, on his own problems. All talks usually ended in the same way – dad lost his temper and began shouting at him. Jan either tried to defend himself, or lost control and raised his voice, too. His mother was easier to deal with in that regard. At least she didn't switch to shouting at the slightest pretext.

"This is very good," his Dad said suddenly. "Thank you."

Jan's eyes smiled. What could be so good about boiled potatoes and green beans? Very plain food, it was difficult to imagine a simpler one. As for the chicken, he didn't even fry it. But he was pleased anyway.

"Honzik," his Dad broke the silence again, "tell Mom -"

Why did pleasant moments last for such a short time?

Jan stood up – abruptly, like a spring straightening up.

"Tell her yourself, Dad. Are you always going to communicate through me? Meet with her and talk."

"That's impossible!"

"Why so impossible? You are in the same city, no? What prevents you from it?"

"You know perfectly well why."

"No, I don't."

"It will all end in -"

"In her telling you to go to hell and you going there?"

"How dare you?"

"This is how!" Jan pushed his stool away with a rumble and turned towards the door.

"You're just like her! You don't care about anybody! You would step over somebody and not notice it. You don't have anything in common with me."

Those words caught Jan at the kitchen door. That last sentence hurt him deeply – firstly because his Dad had never said anything like that before, and secondly, because he knew how far from the truth that was. He didn't expect just one sentence to affect him so greatly, and he got angry. Feeling his cheeks begin to flush he got angrier, because he knew how noticeable was it. But he turned his head nevertheless. Looking his father directly into the eyes and said:

"I'm not her, Dad. And I'm not you. I'm me. I am…just what I am."

He sighed wearily and added, "It would be better if you two had never met each other."

"Then there would be no you!"

"So what? Who would notice?" With those words Jan turned away and left the kitchen slowly.

…

In the living room he turned the TV on and sat down on the end of the couch; for some time he just sat staring at the floor. From time to time he lifted his eyes and looked at the screen through his bangs. There was a detective movie on – an investigator was interrogating a suspect. The latter denied everything, shouted that he didn't know a thing and what the hell was he being interrogated for? It would probably be interesting to watch that movie some other day, but right now Jan himself felt like a suspect or defendant.

His dad entered the room. Jan didn't move and kept sitting, head down.

"Are you watching that?"

"No."

"Then I'll switch to something else?"

"Go ahead."

He switched over to the news. Jan stood up.

"Going to bed?"

"Not yet."

Jan went to the adjacent room closing the door softly behind him. He had an idea. Rummaging through the drawers of the writing table he found several sheets of strong paper and a lead pencil. The pencil was completely blunt. After looking a bit more, Jan found a pencil sharpener too. After all preparations were made he placed a sheet of paper on a book, and, equipped with a sharpened pencil, sat at the writing-table.

If only he could succeed in what he was planning to do. As for copying drawings, he could do that pretty well, but like this, just from memory… But he simply ought to; he had to capture Irena's face with her unique dark blue eyes on paper. He should at least try; otherwise he wouldn't get rid of this obsession.

He carefully began moving the pencil over the paper, trying to mark the outlines of her face, her eyes and her lips with the thinnest lines. Letting them be barely noticeable so far, later he'd make them clearer. As if out of spite, sad thoughts kept popping into his head – thoughts about his parents, thoughts that he'd hardly dare to even start a talk with that Irena anyway, and all he could do was to sit here and draw pictures… When it seemed to him that he drew one of the lines incorrectly, tears came to his eyes suddenly as if something fatal had happened, as if that incorrect line could distort Irena's face not only on paper, but in real life, too.

He let the pencil fall out of his fingers. That was absurd. He'd go mad thinking like that.

For some time he just sat, elbows on the table, his chin resting on his hands, and looked into the black rectangle of the window. The TV set mumbled in the living room. It was cosy, in spite of everything. Suddenly he imagined for a moment – what would he do if he didn't have a home and had nowhere to go. That thought was depressing.

He needed to get some sleep; right now he was too tired and too upset to draw, and tomorrow morning he could try again. Tomorrow he would do his best to succeed.

Jan stuck the pencil into the plastic glass on the table, put the sketch into a book, and hid it under the pillow. Only then did he go to wash up.

In the bathroom he locked the door and took a pill jar out of his jeans pocket. Shaking a couple of pills out of it onto his palm, he threw them into his mouth and drank some water from the tap. The pills were small; they slipped down his throat almost imperceptibly.

"At what hour shall I wake you?" his Dad asked when Jan returned to the living-room.

"Don't wake me."

With these words he switched the light in the smaller room off, undressed and climbed under the blanket.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

In the morning, having barely opened his eyes, he immediately squinted them almost closed again. The sun, unusually bright for an autumn day, hurt them; shining through the window he didn't pull the curtains over yesterday. Jan had no idea what time it was – he didn't have a watch – but, judging by all the brightness, it wasn't too early.

He slipped his hand under the pillow. The book was there. (Well, why wouldn't it be?). He glanced around the room. It had been the same for as long as he could remember; nothing changed here much, just more books appeared on the bookcase. And in the living room everything was in its place too. His father was conservative like that. Unlike his mom who always moved the furniture around in the apartment – you hardly got used to a certain order, and she was already inventing something new. To all the protests she answered that it was no good to be such a bore.

He lounged in bed for some time, enjoying the warmth and the light. Suddenly he got up quickly. Today he should definitely finish what he began.

"I was already thinking of waking you," his father said looking up from the newspaper when Jan appeared in the kitchen doorway in a T-shirt and boxers.

"Why?"

"You shouldn't sleep so much. Look at yourself; you've got bags under your eyes. It's unhealthy to spend so many hours in bed."

"Really? And what will happen?"

Jan wasn't going to begin the day with an argument; the thing was that in reality he hadn't slept for such a long time, and besides he just couldn't understand what kind of terrible thing would happen if you slept much. Would the world end without you?

His father muttered something unintelligible and buried himself in the newspaper again.

"Do you have hot chocolate?" Jan asked, shivering slightly.

"What chocolate?"

"Cocoa."

"Oh. Open the cupboard."

…

After a quick breakfast Jan returned to the room, grabbed the pencil and took the book from under the pillow. He looked over yesterday's sketch critically. Hmm, something was wrong… He marked in several more lines and stopped. Rummaging through the table drawers again, he turned the plastic glass with pens and pencils upside down, sighed and went to the kitchen.

"Dad, do you have an eraser?"

"Eraser? No. Had some, very old, but I've thrown them away. What do you need it for – for the draft?"

"No." Jan determinedly headed for the hallway and pulled his jacket off the coat-rack.

"Where are you going?"

"I'll be back soon." On the dresser he noticed a plastic bag and shoved it in his pocket just in case.

…

The streets were deserted. Very few cars, very few people. Unlike yesterday. It was amusing how the city that usually bustles on weekdays practically dies out on days off. From Monday till Friday everything around had an air of fuss and hurry in it. And on Saturday everything slows down until Monday morning. And even on holidays, when there are no classes and days are all kind of alike, it was still noticeable when it's a weekday, or when it's a day off. He wondered, was it everywhere like this? And even high in the mountains, somewhere at the Wolf's Hole? No, it can't be the same there; there one most likely would quickly forget which day was which.

Noticing the window of a bookshop, Jan went up to the porch and pulled the heavy glass door open; the working hours were written on it – 10 a.m. until 6 p.m. Every day. How do they tell weekdays from days off here?

A young girl standing at the cash register greeted him with a slightly mocking smile. Jan immediately felt uncomfortable. He was pretty sure that there was nothing funny about him and felt that a plain interest was often hidden behind such glances, which added to the embarrassment.

"I need an eraser, please," he said approaching the counter.

"Are you dying? Speak up!"

Again. Usually he indeed spoke in a pretty low voice, and was often asked to repeat what he said. It never annoyed him before, and he calmly repeated his words when asked about it. But this time it felt unpleasant. Should he yell, or what? And how would she react if he did?

"An eraser, please," he repeated sullenly and threw two coins on the counter. That turned out to be a bit rude, but so be it.

"For the draft?"

He shook his head. Everyone seemed to be mad about drafts.

The girl put a little grey eraser with slightly sharpened ends on the counter in front of him.

"Oh, and a blue pencil. Dark-blue," Jan remembered.

"What planet are you from?"

"Huh?"

"Coloured pencils are not sold like this, only in sets. The smallest set is six colours. It's as if you're buying pencils for the first time."

Jan nodded absent-mindedly, not watching out what he was nodding to.

"I didn't get you. Are you buying six colours or not?"

"I am."

She took a small paper box from the shelf behind her back. Jan was a bit offended at the "for the first time" remark and thought that if it were somebody else in his place, this shop-assistant wouldn't have behaved like that. He even wanted to open the box, take the needed pencil out of it, say "I needed only the blue one", and leave, but the box turned out to be unexpectedly cute. Instead of some ridiculous animals, butterflies, or kid's doodles there were a little house, a tree with green-yellowish leaves – like outside just now – and a road running into the distance depicted on it. Jan suddenly had a strange aching feeling – the little house seemed so lonely, cut off from the rest of the world. To reach it would be hard, but to return from it would be even harder; harder to return to the usual atmosphere, and when you do return, you won't be the same, and many things would be quite different…

"…Hey, what's wrong?"

The girl shook his shoulder leaning over the counter. Jan started and stared at her. The mocking expression had evaporated completely from her look.

"What's going on with you?"

"Nothing. Sorry."

Taking the box and the eraser from the counter, Jan went out into the street hastily.

From the mountains which disappeared in the fog far ahead a cold wind blew – a real mountain wind which could bring first snowflakes here in a month or so. He lifted the collar of his jacket, but still felt as if icy fingers had sneaked under it.

…

At home he sat over the drawing for a long time, erasing wrong lines without any pity, trying again and again. His father left to go somewhere, and then came back, but Jan still didn't stop his efforts of rendering Irena's face. To all his father's attempts to start a conversation he answered, ''Dad, please, later. I'm busy now."

At last his endeavors seemed to have a success. But that didn't help him much. He wished to express what he felt, to confide to a sheet of paper at least, because he had nobody to share with verbally. It was past midday already. Tomorrow would be Sunday; in the evening he'd return to his mom and who knew when he would come here again. And when he would meet Irena again? If at all. She didn't live here before, did she? Or did he just not remember? Irena gave him a pretty clear impression that she knew him. A kind of disturbing suspense was killing him, and he couldn't concentrate on anything because of it.

After suffering like this for a long period of time, he finally made up his mind. He put his jacket on, left the apartment and went up to the third floor and stopped at Irena's door. There was no doubt that he stood at the right door, because there were no other apartments on the third floor. Well, one less problem.

His heart was pounding, his palms became wet. Afraid that he would change his mind, Jan pressed the doorbell quickly.

Several seconds later he heard a noise behind the door, as if somebody tried to climb the door on the other side. Then the lock clicked.

On the doorstep there stood a boy, a rather little one - he probably hadn't even entered first grade yet – and looked at Jan with curiosity. The latter raised his eyebrows slightly.

"Hi," the boy greeted him.

Jan nodded, confused and not knowing what to say. What he expected least of all, was that he'd have to explain something to a five-year-old.

"Marek, how many times should I tell you – don't open the door to stran- Oh. Hi Jan."

Irena, as usual, materialized in front of him as if out of nowhere. Taking Marek by his shoulders, she turned him gently towards the shut door of another room, where some half-forgotten child's song was playing.

"Go watch your cartoons."

"I've seen them before."

Marek, judging by his inquisitive look, wanted to stay very much, but still obeyed and withdrew, though not into the room but along the corridor.

Jan licked his dry lips. "I just wanted to thank you again."

"You can do it later. And not me, by the way. Jan…are you in a hurry right now?"

He shook his head quickly.

"Then let's have a little walk. You don't mind?"

"OK, let's go."

Irena pulled her jacket off the coat-rack, just the same as he did a couple of minutes ago, and they went out through the door together.

"You've come here for a weekend only, haven't you? I wanted to drop in on you while you are here, just didn't have time earlier. It's good that you did it yourself."

"Irena, how do you know me?"

They crossed the yard and walked along the street. Jan enjoyed the cool air, very fresh after the rain, and calmed down little by little. Only now did he realize how stuffy it was in the apartment.

Irena was in no hurry to reply. She walked silently, her hands in her pockets, and carefully avoided puddles. The heels of her shoes clicked slightly on the damp paved sidewalk.

Jan walked next to her and waited for the answer.

"Well, that's very simple," Irena broke the silence at last, "but you won't be happy with my explanation."

"Well?"

"Your dad told me about you."

"What? How-"

"How he dared? That's what you wanted to ask? How do parents dare to tell others about their children?"

She glanced at Jan. "You are about to choke with indignation."

"And with shame too."

"Relax. You haven't heard my mom discussing me – and Marek – with all her friends at work. And not only with friends, perhaps." Irena laughed. "She works at the hotel, and there's always somebody to talk to, you know. And she is talkative. But your dad… he is so reticent. And sad. Always alone. He is very reserved. I doubt that he ever talked about you with someone except me."

"But why with you?"

"'It just happened so once. We are neighbours, after all. You know, people often speak of private matters to me. I start to feel awkward because of that."

"What did he tell you?"

"That he missed you very much and regretted that you don't see each other very often. That he wanted you to live with him. That you were his only son, and he waited such a long time for you. He loves you very much, Jan."

Jan clenched his teeth, feeling a lump in his throat. He turned away.

"I know."

Irena sighed. "A sad talk we have here indeed."

They reached the entrance to the park. Jan stopped at the gate. As if she could have a merry one with him.

Irena looked at him intently. A note of concern appeared in her eyes. For a moment it seemed to Jan that she guessed, somehow, what he was thinking about.

"Know what, Jan? Let's meet tomorrow and try again. Today seems to be the wrong day for talks."

"OK. Tomorrow."

Without saying anything else he headed back home. He didn't turn round and couldn't see where Irena went. But for some reason he was sure that she entered the park.

…

He had a strange sensation which didn't leave him during the rest of the day. The meeting with Irena has embarrassed and relieved him at the same time, saving him from the aching suspense. There remained a kind of splinter, a scratch in his soul, very little, but it was a hindrance preventing him from calming down completely. Jan decided not to pay attention to it, blaming his own silly head and groundless fears in everything he felt at the moment.

He was doing his homework for Monday so that he didn't need to think about it tomorrow, watching TV in snatches and distracted by minor things from time to time. His dad was occupied with his own matters. They hardly spoke, only exchanging a few words now and then. That was unusual, but not burdensome. At home mom always talked about something – about important things as well as about sheer trifles, and constantly wanted something from him. Dad, on the contrary, seemed to be content with the fact that his son was with him, and he didn't demand anything from Jan. At least so far.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

He stood on the railroad platform and waited for the train, peering into the shroud of drizzling rain mixed with snow. It was an early morning, and the dusk hadn't cleared completely yet. No matter how much he peered in the direction where the train should arrive from, he couldn't see anything. Only a grey obscurity. If trains didn't clatter, he most likely wouldn't have noticed it until the last moment. But the headlights, the turned-on headlights, he'll be able to see them far ahead. Shifting from foot to foot and adjusting the straps of his backpack, which suddenly seemed very heavy, he waited for those two yellow lights to appear. Maybe they were there, just beyond the turn of the track? He approached the edge of the platform and peered into the distance again…

Suddenly somebody pushed him hard in the back (who? there was nobody around a second ago!), and he fell down, not able to hold his ground. Before he had time to utter a cry he was already lying flat on the wet gravel. Raising his head, he looked up, to the edge of the platform where he just stood. The platform was completely deserted. He started to get to his feet, stumbled, and fell clumsily again, hurting his knee on a rail.

And at that moment the yellow lights emerged out of the turn, lights for which he'd waited up there, but now, on the rails… He looked feverishly around. How big the distance from here to the end of the platform where the salvation – the staircase – was. Two yellow eyes approached him. No, he won't be able to reach it.

The train signaled suddenly, but it was a strange signal – very low, low for a train, and it resembled a ring more than a signal. Who were they signaling to? To him? Please, don't signal, just stop! The second signal. The third. He rushed aside.

…

… "Honzik! Are you asleep? There's a phone call for you."

Having opened his eyes, he stared at the door of the room. Could it be possible that that was only a dream and he didn't need to escape the blinding headlights?

"I'll tell them to call later," his dad said from behind the door.

"I'm coming," he heard his own voice answering.

He got slowly out of bed, dragged himself to the hallway, and took the receiver.

"Yes?"

"Hi Jan, it's Irena."

Um, sure. Who else could that be?

"Hi," he responded, still hardly figuring anything out.

"Oh, I woke you? Sorry."

"You woke my dad. And he woke me."

"Jan, call for me later, will you?"

"OK," he muttered and hung up.

"Honza, what on earth are you talking about?" his dad said indignantly, appearing in the doorway, as soon as Jan trudged to the bathroom. "Nobody woke me. It's 11:30, by the way! Do you always sleep so much on weekends?"

"I couldn't fall asleep for a long time last night."

"Why?"

Jan jerked his shoulder in response.

"So, you got acquainted with Irena? You could have told me at least."

"I will when I have something to tell about."

…

"So, where did we stop last time?" Irena asked when they were walking along the street in the same direction as yesterday.

"On a sad note."

"Oh, yes. Then today we'll try to avoid it."

This time they entered the park and were walking along the path by the pond, so large that the word "lake" fitted it more. Maybe it _was _a lake indeed. Its surface was covered with floating coloured leaves and sticks beaten from the trees by the heavy night rain.

"Let's sit here a little," Irena offered when they were passing a bench.

"It's damp. Hmm, though…"

Jan fished a crumpled plastic bag out of his pocket, smoothed it out, and spread it on the wooden seat.

"Great!" said Irena with delight. Jan moved his shoulders awkwardly. He was flattered, but didn't know how to say or express that.

They were sitting very close to each other, shoulder to shoulder, because the bag wasn't too large. Jan was disturbed by the dream he had, and sat silent, lowering his head and thoughtfully holding the tips of his fingers together.

"You didn't sleep enough? Sorry again for waking you. Marek always jumps out of bed at daybreak, so I can't sleep longer, even if I wanted to."

"I just don't understand," he said suddenly.

"Understand what, Jan?"

"What you want from me."

Irena cocked her head to one side slightly, obviously puzzled.

"You wouldn't be interested in me for no reason. Nobody would."

"Why?"

"Just because. Everybody remembers about me only when they need something from me. That's why I ask. Because I can't read your thoughts."

"Jan, who did you socialize with? With wolves?"

He looked quickly up at her, surprised.

"You are like a wolf cub. Snapping, shunning."

"I didn't snap."

"You snap not with words, but with behaviour. As if keeping me at a distance all the time. Is it so unpleasant for you to talk to me?"

He didn't answer. It was not about unpleasantness, of course, but…

"You know, Jan, you're quite distressing."

"Really? Why do you enjoy following me then?"

"Please, don't be sarcastic; it doesn't suit you at all."

"What on earth do you want from me?"

"You are repeating yourself. Change the channel."

Jan only sniffled, looking at his feet. A lace on his right sneaker started to come loose. He bent down automatically and tightened it, hiding from the outside world behind his long bangs, as usual.

Definitely not usual were Irena's fingers which drew his hair off his face carefully. Her touch was so soft, light, and tender that Jan closed his eyes and sat completely motionless for a second. He would've given away many things for one more touch of hers.

"Thaw, please, OK? You are like numb."

Slightly surprised, Jan looked into Irena's face. It sounded so weird – "thaw". As if he was a block of ice. And he suddenly felt as if he was really "thawing". Irena's fingers emanated warmth, _she _emanated warmth. It was so pleasant to be close to her. Strange, but that seemed to be mutual.

…

The park turned out to be enormous and looked completely neglected and desolate in some parts. They were wandering there till dark, either talking on various topics, or just in silence. In the morning Jan was so reluctant to go anywhere, and now he understood why. He thought that they'll have nothing to talk about, that he'll have to invent a subject for conversation, blushing and painfully racking his brain. But that turned out so easy that he couldn't believe it at first. Even silence with her wasn't awkward. As if they kept silence together, not each on his own, but together, both. Jan couldn't explain that better anyway.

He almost forgot that he had yet to return to his mom.

"I don't want to go back," he confessed. "I wish it were Saturday again tomorrow, not Monday."

"Only five days and there will be another weekend," Irena smiled. "And you will come here again."

How simple it was just to tell that. And how hard would that be for him – to argue with his mom who would try to talk him out of this idea during the whole week, reproach him that he doesn't help her at all, and even cry. Jan always felt terribly guilty when she cried, but lately he started to consider, more and more often, that she just manipulated his compliance. Whatever was that; this time he wouldn't make any concessions and would come here next weekend – to dad… and to Irena.

"Do you have a phone?" he asked, and immediately understood that it was a very stupid thing to ask. Of course she had, how could she have called him in the morning otherwise?

But Irena didn't notice the absurdity of the question, or maybe just didn't show.

"I do. Shall I write it down or you'll remember?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

All week Jan lived looking forward to the weekend. Outwardly for others he remained the same – quiet and a bit aloof, and, judging by his expression, it was hard to guess what he was thinking about. But in reality he rejoiced inwardly. During the five weekdays he was present at school and at home only physically, and all his thoughts were there, in another part of the city which in two days became the most precious to him.

After returning home on Sunday evening he warned his mom immediately that he was going to visit his dad again the next weekend. It was better to give her time to get used to the idea, and besides, if she wanted any help about the house from him, it was reasonable to ask her in advance not to leave requests and errands for Saturday and Sunday – he wouldn't be at home anyway. Mom, to his surprise, hardly had any objections, obviously feeling that he was very firm in his decision.

In the middle of the week he made an attempt to call Irena, but bumped into the ubiquitous Marek, who, like his sister, was way too sociable.

"Irena's not at home," Marek willingly informed him. "She'll come back in two hours."

"And where is she?"

"Went to the cinema with… don't know with whom."

Those words afflicted Jan a little, and he thought that later he'll definitely invite Irena to the cinema too. Was he worse than someone she was now there with?

Aloud he just said, "I see."

And added, after a pause, "Marek, listen… don't tell her that I called, OK? I'll call again."

"Okay, won't tell," Marek replied. Jan could imagine pretty clearly how he shook his head vigorously at the other end of the line.

…

He didn't call Irena again that week though, because he suddenly feared that he'll choose a bad time and disturb her somehow. What if he spoils everything with his call? Right now he felt so good and calm, that he didn't even need any pills. But such a serene mood could vanish any minute – he knew that too well.

…

The park literally transformed in five days. There was no rain for the whole week, paths and lawns had dried up and now were strewn with yellow, orange, and even red fallen leaves. As if the soft blanket covered all the park, now spreading out under your feet. Jan was walking slowly next to Irena along the side of the path, digging the toes of his sneakers into the slightly springy colored carpet. Some of the people they met on their way grumbled that that was outrageous, and what the street cleaners were paid for, or something else of the same sort. Trying to avoid listening to discontented voices, Irena tugged Jan slightly on his sleeve to the side, and they went across the lawn where instead of coarse sand still green grass peered from under the layer of leaves here and there.

When Jan raked another heap of leaves up, Irena suddenly stopped him.

"Wait."

She bent down and picked something glittering in the grass. Straightened up and opened her palm. Jan cast a glance at it. A little rectangular brass plate with a word engraved on it. The letters were crooked and uneven, as if written with a wood pyrography tool, or a dental drill, or something else not aimed for such purposes.

"Pishta," Irena read.

"Ah, some dog lost it." Jan passed his finger over the plate carefully, rubbing off sand grains stuck to it. Doing this, he accidentally brushed his fingertip against Irena's palm, and withdrew his hand immediately.

"Maybe, something happened to that Pishta?" Irena uttered thoughtfully, ignoring his embarrassment.

"What happened? This thing just ripped off the collar when he was walking here, that's all."

"Hope you are right."

…

"And what if wolves ate that Pishta?" asked Marek at home with awe in his voice when Irena showed him the plate they had found.

After they wandered in the park for pretty long and were very cold, Irena offered to go to her place. Jan refused at first, but Irena asked him not to be so shy and added that there was nobody at home anyway, except Marek.

Irena's brother immediately joined them in the kitchen where they sat.

"Yeah, ate together with the collar. And spat the plate out." Jan was a bit amused, but Marek spoke with such seriousness, that his desire to laugh at him evaporated immediately.

"Marek, don't be silly. What wolves are you talking about?" Irena took a newspaper and some children's book from the kitchen table and shoved them into her brother's hands. "I won't do any bedtime reading for you anymore. And mom won't either. Take it to the room, please."

"Wolves from the Wolf's Hole!" Marek replied with conviction. "They live there!"

"No wolves live there," Jan interfered. "If they ever did, the last were killed a hundred years ago, I guess."

Irena put the kettle on the stove and reached for matches. Marek suddenly turned white as a piece of chalk, dropped the book and the paper and rushed from the kitchen.

"He's afraid of fire," Irena said, catching Jan's inquiring glance.

"Why?"

"One jerk scared him stiff. With a lighter."

Jan cocked his head, perplexed.

"Well, you know, a lighter looking like a gun. You pull the trigger, and flame bursts out."

"Oh. Yeah, I know. Seen it in a movie."

"You've seen, and he hasn't. And he wasn't afraid of anything before that!"

Jan sighed. Did he say something wrong again?

"How did that happen?" he decided to ask nonetheless.

"Mom took him with her to work, to the hotel. She's a receptionist. Marek went outside without asking for permission, and at that moment somebody pulled up to the entrance, by taxi. Marek stood very close to the car, well, to its front door. And next to the driver sat his son. So he rolled the window down, put out his hand with a lighter in it and pulled the trigger… Mom complained to the manager, but he was on the driver's side. As a result mom got an official reprimand – because she didn't look after her kid." Irena lit the gas ring under the kettle and threw the matchbox onto the table. "I hate that wanker!"

Jan was silent. What could you answer to this, really?

"You know, I used to work there part-time, too," Irena continued. "And still do, now and then. They promised to take me on the staff in the future. That would be great, if it weren't for this moron of a manager. And I'll have to obey him."

"If he's going to be your manager, you'll have to, for sure."

"Go to hell with that, Jan!" Irena shouted all of a sudden, bursting with anger. "You are talking like a victim! If you are ready to tolerate everything and to obey everybody, and let others order you around, I'm not. And I won't!"

Jan sat gloomy and didn't answer. He didn't like that talk from the very beginning, and was right. What caused it – the plate? They shouldn't have bumped into it at all… This habit of Irena to pick things up turned out not in his favor for the second time already. Last Sunday, when they were wandering in that very park, she put her hand into her pocket and said, "Look what I found at the hotel."

On her opened palm lay little white pills – about ten, or even more. Jan looked at them cautiously. What was she driving at?

"Why did you pick them up?" he asked with suspicion.

"Wanted to show them to somebody and to ask what pills are they."

Jan looked more closely and smiled.

"That's not pills at all."

"What, then?"

"Sugar substitute."

"Sugar?"

"Yeah."

"How do you know?"

"Look what's written on each."

On each pill a small letter "s" was printed.

"Interesting… But real pills have letters on them, too, don't they?"

"They do. But such a mark I've never met before."

"And what if they are pills nevertheless?"

"If you don't believe me – taste them," Jan shrugged, slightly offended at her distrust.

"I could have, but don't want to. I've no idea who left them."

"Don't. I'm sure about that."

"You seem to be good at it," Irena said with surprise. "Is your mom a doctor?"

Jan bit his tongue, realizing that he said more than he wanted to.

"No, a pharmacist," he answered unwillingly.

"A who?"

"Well, sells medications."

…That day he managed to change the subject somehow. But then Irena wasn't pissed off at him at least.

"I'd better go," he said sullenly.

Irena looked at him. "Stay, please. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you, you have nothing to do with all that. Wait, I'll just go look what Marek is doing."

…

When they had tea, Irena's restless brother started the talk about the Wolf's Hole again, saying that if it was called so, then there were wolves. To this Irena answered that the neighboring street was called Maple Street, and there weren't any maples there.

"You know, though," she said after Marek had run away to the room, "at the Wolf's Hole wolf heads hang on the walls. And there's also the painting on which a wolf hunt is depicted."

"And who painted it?"

"I don't know. Nobody knows. It has neither a date, nor a signature. A copy of that painting hangs in the hotel where mom works. Thanks God there's no wolf heads!"

"Those heads could be brought from somewhere and been hung there. And the painting is…just a painting."

"I don't believe in 'just a painting'. Everything appears for a reason. Well, on the one hand it's quite understandable; of course, they wanted to create a special atmosphere. But I didn't like that place anyway. Gloomy, wild. No communication with it. There were plans of installing it, but they just remained plans. One can get there only by cableway – a whole hour by it, probably – you could freeze before you arrive. If something happens there, nobody would know. And all in all, who knows what…lives there, on those mountains."

The last words made Jan feel uncomfortable. He remembered how he was hanging around at the railway station near the trains once, chilled to the bone and hungry. An old man – a watchman or something – threatened him: "If you're going to mess about here, I'll embark you on the cableway and send you to Wolf's Hole, and wolves will eat you there. And if you stay outside at night, they'll find you even here." Jan, though he didn't feel like laughing at all, laughed still and answered that it was no use scaring him, because there were no wolves there, not to mention here. And that man replied, looking at him intently, "And how can you be sure? Maybe here they are people, just like you and me, and there they are wolves."

What did he mean by that? Jan hesitated, trying to decide whether to tell Irena about that incident or no, but then decided not to. Irena will get all the truth out of him, and he was definitely not ready to be out with it.

…

A week or two later, on a Sunday evening when Jan, as usual, had to return to his mom and to school, Irena suddenly asked him, "Jan, who do you love more?"

"Huh?"

"Who of your parents do you love more?"

Seeing his confusion, she explained, "You are always like torn between them. But if they parted for good, who would you prefer to stay with?"

Jan was looking above her head. "They constantly ask, too. Want me to choose, and I can't! Could you, in my place?"

She shrugged slightly.

"You love one of your parents more?"

Irena didn't answer.

"Who?" Jan insisted. "Your mom or your dad?"

"I don't have a dad. That's the point. I have only mom and granddad. It was he who fixed your key, by the way… My dad left long ago, I don't remember him even. And Marek's father died, before Marek was born."

"Um… he has a different father?"

"Yes." Irena smiled. "Isn't that noticeable?"

"No." Jan shook his head. "In what way should it be?"

After a pause he added, "You two are… so alike."

Irena giggled.

"I meant - "

"I got what you meant. We are both way too curious and pestering everybody."

"No, not pestering… You aren't… As for me, I'd never - "

Irena smiled, grasping what he meant, and patted his arm.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

So it went – Jan came every Friday and tried to finish with his homework the same evening, to have a completely free weekend. He'd never felt better before, never in his life, he thought one day. And at the next moment he shuddered asking himself what will he do when this happiness, unexpected and appeared from nowhere, ends, and tried to dismiss the thought.

He saw that Irena's life wasn't smooth, that she had less free time than he did; she had to look after Marek very often, because their mom had to work night shifts as well as day ones. Irena constantly had to do cooking, or washing, or cleaning, and it looked like she had lived like this for a very long time already, if they didn't have a father. At times Jan was afraid that he was a hindrance, that he distracted her from her matters, and offered his help. To this Irena mostly answered that she'll deal with her own time herself somehow.

Once Irena, frustrated by something, said in a fit of irritation, "I'm sick and tired of everything. I'd leave with great pleasure."

"Leave?" Jan turned to her, alarmed. "Where?"

"Wherever."

"Don't. Don't leave, please. That won't solve anything."

They were standing in the park by the water and looked at the dark lake. Jan picked a flat stone and threw it across the surface, trying to hide his emotions. But nothing escaped Irena's attention.

"What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "Nothing."

"Then why are you so scared? And why are you dissuading me from it?"

"Because I know what I'm talking about."

"You know?"

Jan sighed heavily. He'd tell her anyway – if not now, then later. It's impossible to keep everything to oneself forever. After being silent for a while he confided to her reluctantly, "Once I ran away from home."

"You?"

"Yes, me. You don't believe me?"

"Just didn't expect that from you." Irena emphasized the last word a bit.

"Why?"

"You are so clean-cut. Quiet. 'Domestic'."

"What made you think I'm clean-cut? Maybe I killed several people?"

"Hiiighly unliiikely," Irena drawled merrily, but after a moment her face became very serious. "Er… are you capable of it?"

"…"

He remembered the recent incident when two thuggish-looking types blocked his way in a yard.

"Got matches?"

"No. I don't smoke."

"Money then."

He reached into his jeans pocket, grabbed all the change that was there and dropped it into the dirty paw of the extortionist without a word.

"The rest!"

"That is all."

"And if I punch you in the mug and ask again?"

"I don't have more, upon my word."

The second guy pulled his sweatshirt up and began to examine the pockets of his jeans one by one. Jan was putting up with that impudent search silently, hoping that they'll leave him alone after they've seen for themselves he didn't have more money. He shuddered with disgust at the rough pokes of fingers through the thin fabric of the pocket close to his groin. And all of a sudden the guy fished out a coin which Jan missed somehow.

"You don't have more, eh? Son of a bitch!"

The first guy walked round and hit Jan in the back, knocking him off his feet. He fell, putting his hands forward, and grazed his palms on the rough tiles this part of the yard was laid with. And that was only the beginning.

The goons didn't punch him in the face; having knocked him down, they kicked him in the ribs and belly. Jan, who spent several previous days at home running a fever, and hadn't recovered completely yet, was crushed with weakness and feebleness, nausea began to rise in him. He felt that he was going to throw up any moment. No, please, not in their presence… If he could foresee this, he wouldn't have eaten anything that day. After the next blow he was literally turned inside out. His bullies guffawed, calling him a piece of shit.

He had never experienced such humiliation before – and such a fury. Impotent fury. Because he couldn't do anything against those two - and not even against one. Hatred clouded his eyesight; he wanted those bastards to die, to be run over by a truck, to be torn by wolves. If he had a gun, he'd discharge the whole clip into them; turn their mugs into a bloody mess… But he wasn't able to do anything to them. At last they left him alone and headed their way, dropping to him on the run not to catch their eye again.

"Then you'd have to kill me!" shouted Jan for whom it didn't matter anymore – he wanted to die anyway, die right now.

"Good idea!" one of them shouted back, and they disappeared, leaving him to lie in the dusk under the archway. Jan nearly blacked out. Frankly speaking, he even wanted that to happen. Gathering all his strength, he moved towards the wall and sat huddling up and shivering all over.

Usually he tried to avoid violent flashes of fury – such emotional outbursts took all his strength completely, a terrible apathy came after them, and he lay motionless for a long time, like a sack, regaining his usual self.

He didn't remember how he got home that day – it must have been very close. At home he locked himself in his room and fell on the bed. To his mother he muttered something about weariness and not being well. The mental image of her alarmed face stood before his eyes up to the present moment. Very late in the evening he crawled down the bed, after losing hope to get warm, and trudged to the shower. Standing under the hot jets, he rinsed his mouth and brushed his teeth. After the hot water and a cup of tea with milk (which he didn't like much, but he slept better due to it), he crawled back under the blanket and sank into oblivion. He missed school the next day – mom wrote some note to the teacher, as far as he could remember…

…

Yes, he was capable of killing someone. If he was compelled to do that. Probably anybody was capable of that. Under certain circumstances.

"…And how did that happen?" Irena's voice returned him to reality.

"Huh? What?" Jan stared at her, scared for a second that she managed to read his thoughts somehow.

"Why have you run away from home?"

Oh. That.

"Wasn't quite myself at that moment."

Irena didn't take her eyes off him, waiting for an explanation. He sighed and shrugged.

"Maybe then I realized completely that mom and dad parted forever, that they'll never be together again and… like… broke off with them both. I wanted to escape… from everything."

Irena wanted to say something, but Jan stopped her.

"Of course, you can't escape from yourself, I know now. But I didn't understand it then."

Irena nodded.

"You know, they were together, when I returned. Were so glad… together. And then parted again."

"You returned yourself? Or you were found?"

"I returned myself. Met a man who convinced me to return. I lived at his house for several days, out of town. Told him that I wanted to stay at his place for good." Jan kept silence for several moments, looking at the water. "He didn't object, because he hadn't any relatives, but said that if my parents lose me, they will most likely not endure that. Said that I couldn't stay with him forever anyway, and I wouldn't be able to survive on the street alone. That someone would kill me, or I'd simply freeze to death. It was winter, after all. And beside that he said I was too small and… not strong enough for this."

"Jan, what are you talking about? Nobody should live alone in the street, no matter who he is."

"Now mom is constantly afraid that I will desert her. Afraid to let me go somewhere. She cries often. It seems to me that whatever I do, or say – it's all for the worse."

Irena said nothing. Jan shook his head.

"Why do all our talks boil down to me? It ends with me complaining like the worst whiner."

"You are not complaining. And we talk not about you only. You remember only those ones which have something to do with your beloved self?" Irena laughed. "Oh, by the way, I need to collect Marek from the kindergarten, I'm afraid he's already tired of waiting for me. And the teacher will be mad at me again and ask where I am hanging about for so long. Are you coming with me?"

"Of course, let's go."

…

First Marek hung on Irena's neck, then, without hesitating much, on Jan's. Irena literally bent over to the ground at this wild expression of tenderness, and Jan hardly stirred, only blushed slightly – usually nobody was eager to hug him. Fortunately, Irena's brother didn't allow Jan to get embarrassed completely, running ahead of them immediately.

"He likes you very much," Irena smiled.

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Don't ask silly questions. One person likes another not for a reason, but just because. Why do I like you?"

"I've no idea."

"Oh, here you are again. You still think that I need something from you?"

"I can't be of any interest to anybody. I'm boring."

"No, you aren't. You are reserved and think too bad about yourself. Well, okay, and when you have your own children, you will also think that they love you for a reason, and not just because?"

"I won't have my own children."

"And why's that?"

"Just because."

"That's not an answer."

"Because I don't want to bring anybody into this world. I was brought – and?"

"And?"

"I'm only a hindrance."

"That can't be true. Don't say so."

"Can't it? It can! Let others find a match for themselves, have children, and so on. And I… I shouldn't, perhaps. I'll be alone."

"Jan, how old are you?" Irena asked suddenly.

"Fourteen. Why?"

"You speak as if you were forty."

Jan was at a loss what to answer to that, and just looked at Irena with surprise. She was right. He was talking like his own father right now. He used to say such things, too. He wanted Jan to live with him, because "mom will find somebody to be with, and I'll stay alone." Why was he so sure that mom was able to find somebody, and he wasn't?

Within his memory mom indeed came home with her friends several times – friends from work and God knows from where else. Jan behaved the same with everybody – politely said "hello" and went to his room. Mom didn't ask him to stay, knowing that her son wasn't the heart and soul of the company. Though, if he decided to stay, she'd most likely ask him to leave sooner or later. Jan didn't want to hear such a request and always tried to leave before it was voiced. His dad was the same – he was constantly sure that he would disturb somebody. And he asserted that Jan didn't take after him. Maybe, in appearance he didn't, but in everything else… He wondered how old his parents were. Frankly speaking, he didn't know for sure. They both should be more than forty; they weren't too young when he was born.

…

Irena's hand slipping into his brought him back to the present. He froze, as if afraid to scare this touch off with one awkward movement, then clasped her slender fingers carefully. Irena turned him towards herself slowly by gently tugging at his hand, and now they were standing opposite each other, very close to each other. Jan's heart was pounding. How good and how fortunate it was that dusk began to fall already, perhaps, his flushing face wasn't so noticeable in it. But, if tiny beads of rain sparkling in Irena's bangs could be seen so clearly, then what to say about his cheeks…

Shifting her weight from heels to toes slightly, she brought her face very close to his. Jan shut his eyes slowly and felt her warm soft lips touching his cheek at the very corner of his mouth. Just for a couple of seconds, and those seconds were the happiest in all the time he remembered himself.

He opened his eyes and smiled. Irena smiled back.

"You're so tall that it's hard to reach your face," she said slyly.

"I'll lift you next time," he answered and was surprised at his own boldness – the hint for next time and the assurance that he'd lift Irena. Well, of course, he could do that physically, but physical strength wasn't the main point.

A naughty spark flashed in Irena's eyes.

"Agreed."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Not so long ago the number of various "rules of behaviour in society" terrified Jan. His mom was constantly repeating to him that it was necessary to be polite with everyone, to always greet others, to give up your place to elders, not to forget to say "please" and "thank you", and of course, to help the weak, to protect them, etc. (As for the weak, his mom obviously overestimated him. If only somebody protected _him_…). There were heaps of rules; they encircled you like enemies, lying in wait for you everywhere, so that you always happened to break at least one of them. "Mom," he said once with a heavy sigh, "do you really think that I will keep to all of them?"

But sometimes, real situations were more instructive than endless instructions themselves.

Once, about 3-4 years ago his mom came home after work and shopping with a huge bag. The car was in the auto service due to some issues, so she had to cope without it. Having answered the door, Jan tried to take the bag, which mom immediately put down on the floor, and to carry it to the kitchen to unpack it, as he usually did. This time he managed to make only a few steps, and then didn't hold his burden and dropped it right onto his foot. Something clinked. Flinching slightly – he didn't even imagine a bag could be so heavy, how did mom only manage to drag it home – he grabbed the handles again and the next moment met his mom's eyes.

At first it seemed to him that she was going to start crying, then that she got angry at him for his weakness and clumsiness, after all, he probably broke something. She stood, leaning onto the wall wearily, and said nothing. Jan felt ill at ease; he didn't know what to think already. And then mom said, in a low and calm voice, "Don't ever let your wife carry such bags."

He only frowned and turned away in response, and after all still managed to drag the damned bag to the kitchen. A few days later he heard mom telling about that episode to someone on the phone. She was afraid that that was too much, that she shouldn't have told what she did, that it was usually so hard to get an extra word out of him, and now he would probably withdraw even more.

Jan didn't know who mom was talking to (definitely not to dad), and had no idea what their answer at the other end of the line was. He wasn't sure whether he wanted to know that or not.

Jan didn't withdraw more, despite mom's fears, but remembered that episode once and for all.

As for various other rules, they weren't so hard to follow either, and to follow them regarding Irena was almost a piece of cake. For some reason Jan especially liked to let her pass through the door first when they entered somewhere (or went out). When they got acquainted, Jan had forgotten about all those proprieties completely – wasn't in the mood for them – and later reproached himself for such blunders.

All those rules were just mere trifles – in general, Jan was ready to do anything for Irena so that she had more free time. Once, when she was hurrying somewhere, he offered, "If you have something to do for Monday, bring it to me, I'll do it."

Irena looked at him with incomprehension.

"Well, you have homework, don't you?"

"Oh, you mean that… You mean that you can cope with any task."

"Yes, most likely."

"Indeed? You're such an excellent student?"

Jan wasn't embarrassed.

"No. But I could have coped, really."

"Thank you, Jan, that's very nice of you. But I would rather do it myself."

Jan sighed, "As you wish."

…

On weekdays Jan missed Irena terribly; sometimes the desire to see her in the middle of the week became so strong that he couldn't think of anything else. The phone was a remedy, but Jan didn't dare to call often, fearing to be a nuisance. Besides, he couldn't get Irena on the phone every time he called – in most cases she wasn't at home. Almost every time the one who grabbed the receiver was Marek – he seemed to enjoy answering the phone calls.

Jan wanted to meet Irena after lessons some day during the week, but he had no idea what school she studied in. Irena never mentioned that. Jan tried to find that out beating about the bush and asking leading questions, but nothing came out of it. He started to have the impression that she was keeping something from him.

Also he wanted to know very much if Irena had a boyfriend, and tried to ferret that out, too. All his clumsy attempts to do that were easily evaded by her. They seemed to amuse her, though she tried not to demonstrate that too openly, sparing his feelings. In most cases she just eluded the answer, switching to another subject.

"Everybody runs after you at school, yes?" he asked bluntly one day.

Irena raised her eyebrows. "What made you think so?"

"Isn't that true?" he answered with a question.

"No." Irena shook her head and added after a short pause, "At my school everybody used to run after Emilka. Literally all of the school, yes."

"And now they stopped doing that?" he asked just to keep up the conversation. Why should he care about that Emilka, whoever she was?

"She just went to another school. I'm sure there everything is the same. She'll always be run after."

Jan only shrugged in response. That talk seemed pointless to him. The name Emilka didn't evoke any associations in his head and didn't ring any bell. He couldn't remember ever meeting anybody who was named like that.

…

Lately Jan was often enraged at his own ingenuousness and lack of experience, was angry at himself, and couldn't do anything with that. He hadn't yet learnt to control such strong feelings he had during the last couple of months, it was too difficult, and he began to doubt he'll acquire that kind of skill someday. What was going on with him, including physical aspects, didn't add tranquility to his life.

He admired Irena, wanted to hold her hand, bring her flowers, go with her to the end of the world, protect her from all the evil things, and his body always reacted in the same way, as if throwing him back to earth. His heart began to pound, his breath became faster, strain appeared in the lower part of his belly and in his groin, blood rushed from his face and ran down there making his jeans feel tight and bulge. That didn't happen so very often, but during the most inappropriate moments, for instance, when he was called out to the blackboard. Hands shoved in the pockets were not a bad disguise, Jan already started to fear to take them out, but he couldn't keep them there permanently. What to write on the blackboard with then, sorry to ask?

Once Jan went to the blackboard, keeping his left hand in his pocket.

"What's that?" the teacher asked with indignation. "Stand properly."

"I'm standing properly all right."

"Take your hand out of your pocket!"

Jan blushed. "I won't."

He didn't give a damn anymore whether he'll have an "F" for the math lesson or for his behaviour. Probably he'll get both. Well, so be it, then.

The class watched their wrangle with bewilderment. Jan was the last person anybody expected such kind of arguing from. Somebody began to giggle.

The elderly mathematician stared at this tall eighth-grader with childishly long fair hair. Usually so quiet and mild, right now he seemed not quite himself.

"Jan, what happened?" She asked concernedly. "Are you ill?"

"May I go out?"

Having received a confused nod in response, he put the chalk back and left the classroom. Standing in the end of the corridor by the window, he asked himself, did anybody understand what happened. Probably, no. Let's think no, just for composure's sake. And if one of his classmates was in his place, what would he do? All those troubles couldn't happen with him alone; others experienced the same from time to time, right? And there was nobody to ask about it. He didn't have close friends among his classmates, and even if he did, he wouldn't dare to ask anyway.

Dreams had their own surprises in store, too. Except that they can be bad, good, fearful, strange, Jan got to know that they can also be wet. He actually had the idea about that before, but only lately had he fully experienced what that meant. After several awakenings in the morning or in the middle of the night sensing a warm and sticky substance in his pajama pants he started to keep napkins or a small towel in the drawer of the bedside table.

Jan was afraid that his mom will know about his wet dreams. Of course he understood that that was all pure biology, that he wasn't alone with those issues, and others had it the same way, but he still was ashamed that his physical shell behaved so… so openly. You can say a bunch of beautiful phrases about your feelings and perform a great deal of noble actions in the name of the one you have these feelings towards, and your body will always react the same way, giving you away at any moment.

He had long got used to only worrying about his mom not finding pills among his things, and was always on the alert checking all the pockets before throwing his pants or shirt into the washing machine or handing them to mom when she, starting a big wash, asked him to bring all his dirty clothes. And now this… Pills were surely easier to hide. They didn't leave stains at least.

He became more self-conscious about his looks, was more critical about it now, and minor troubles like pimples started to upset him. All in all, he didn't have problems with them having a clean skin, just from time to time one or two appeared on his chin or forehead, mostly when he ate too much sweet stuff or spent a long time in a draught. He never paid much attention to them before, not to mention having complexes about them, but now he sometimes even felt shy to appear in front of Irena.

Once his mom, noticing that he looked healthier than before (apparently due to frequent outdoor walks), said that he seemed to gain bit of weight. Formerly he'd just ignore her words, but now they made him snap at her, and he lost his appetite for a couple of days because of that innocent remark.

…

Jan spent a long time wondering about Irena's school location in order to go there some day and meet her after lessons. He had no idea though what her reaction to such an initiative might be, but consoled himself with a hope that she'd still be pleased. It only remained to find out where to come…

He was very enthusiastic about this idea for some time, but one day, when he wasn't in a very bright mood, his indecisiveness prevailed, and he thought suddenly: well, even if he managed to find out where Irena's school was, even if he came to its doors – what if she went out of there not alone, but with her boyfriend? And what's next? There would be nothing left to do for him but leave. And he'd be lucky if avoided a cuff or a black eye. He was no competitor to Irena's boyfriend…

That disparaging thought made him upset, and eventually he decided to give up the idea for the time being. Maybe later…


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

The day began strangely. In the morning, when Jan was heading for school, he met their neighbour at the staircase again, the same mocker who teased him about his jacket from time to time. The jacket wasn't the only subject to start the conversation; the man just couldn't pass by without saying anything.

"Jan, why are you always so distant?" he inquired joyfully this time. "Were you abducted by aliens, by any chance?"

Jan grinned in response. "Highly unlikely. They'd find someone more interesting than me."

The man raised his eyebrows slightly, apparently surprised that Jan answered him once in a blue moon, and even in a joking manner.

"Well, who knows what can pop into their heads," he laughed, but a couple of seconds later suddenly became very serious. "You dope perhaps?"

"Meaning?" Jan asked, though he understood what his neighbour was talking about, and it made him tighten inwardly.

"Well, abusing something, no?"

Jan decided to act the insulted innocence. Attack was the best form of defense.

"Do I look like a drug addict?" he asked with a note of defiance in his voice.

The man looked at him intently. Where had all his cheerfulness gone?

"And you think drug addicts look somehow special? Not at all. At first they look just like everybody else, and nothing is noticeably wrong. And when it becomes noticeable, it may be too late."

Jan sighed.

"So, everyone should be suspected then?" he asked quietly, and, adjusting the strap of the schoolbag on his shoulder, headed for the exit.

…

"Irena has just called you," his dad said as Jan stepped across the threshold.

"I'll go up to her place in a minute."

"She's not at home; she's at her mom's."

"At the hotel? Then I'll go and meet her." Jan put his bag down on the floor and turned towards the doors.

"You know where to go?"

"Yes, I do."

"Have a meal first."

"Later, dad."

…

On the bus Jan chose the farthest seat, knelt on it, and started looking from the rear window at the road running into the distance.

When the bus crossed the city limits, the asphalt under its wheels became smoother and the view beyond the window more monotonous. Jan had a bad night, and now his eyes and head started to become heavy with sleep. He tried to shake the sleepiness off. The needed stop was the last on the route, so he couldn't go past it, but he still didn't want to conk out in the bus. He blinked drowsily.

Trees and bushes were flashing by beyond the window, their branches almost bare, with only random frozen leaves trembling. The bus slowed down a little.

And suddenly Jan noticed something out of the corner of his eye, some kind of a sign on the trunk of the tree by the very curb. Something was carved on its bark. Jan tried to make out what it was. But at that moment a lady with a strict expression looking much like a teacher who entered the bus at the last stop, occupied the seat next to Jan, and since then glared at her fellow-traveler indignantly, finally couldn't resist pulling him by the pants leg.

"Shame on you, sit normally! Who do you think you are, a toddler?"

Jan hardly avoided losing his balance and falling on her, so strong was the pull, but eventually kept from it and scrambled down back onto the seat disappointedly. The strange tree disappeared from view behind the turn. Well, they have almost reached the destination point anyway.

…

Jan didn't know where the hotel was and was about to ask somebody, when he suddenly saw Irena walking towards him heading for the bus stop. She was so deep in her own thoughts that could easily pass by without noticing him.

"Hi!"

Her eyes opened wide in alarm. "Hi. Jan, what happened? Why are you here?"

"Nothing happened. I just came for you."

She smiled, heaving a sigh of obvious relief. "So early. I thought I'd be back before you arrived home."

"Well, yeah. I came out earlier than I thought." Jan shrugged slightly.

"Jan, let's go have a snack somewhere. I'm hungry already."

"Irena… A bit later, ok?"

"Are you unwell?"

"Sort of."

"You're travel-sick?"

"Uhum. Happens sometimes."

"Let's have a walk then. You know, we even can go a part of the way back on foot. I often do it. And then catch a bus on my way. Between stops mostly. I just wave to the driver to stop the bus."

"And he stops?"

"Sure! And you're afraid that you won't be able to reach the next stop on foot should anything happen?" Irena taunted him slightly.

"I'm not afraid of anything!" Jan squared his shoulders in an offended manner. "And you walk down the curb, don't you?"

"No, mostly there, down the road. It goes along the entire highway. When I walk down the curb, cars often pull over, and people ask why am I walking here, did something happen, and whether I need a ride."

"They stop because of you alone," Jan declared with conviction. "But nobody will stop the car because of the two of us."

"You think so? We'll check your theory."

…

While they were walking along the highway one car pulled over a bit ahead of them nevertheless.

"Are you guys late for the bus?" the driver asked leaning out of the window.

"No." They shook their heads simultaneously.

"Maybe I'll give you a ride to the nearest bus stop?"

"Thanks, no need, we'll reach it on foot," Irena said.

The man shrugged and drove away.

"You see? And you said that nobody would stop." Irena followed the car with her eyes for a moment. "I should have bet you. Then I'd have won."

"Bet me what?"

"Well, a wish, for instance. Have you ever bet a wish?"

"No."

"And why did you get embarrassed? Wishes vary, you know."

Jan suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.

"What's wrong?"

"By the way, I just remembered. I've seen something from the bus window on the way here. I want to see what that was. I think we've almost reached that site."

"Hmm? You intrigued me. Sure, let's go see."

…

About three minutes later they reached the turn of the road where Jan got that very untimely reprimand. He nearly ran towards the tree which caught his attention. Quickly looking it over. There appeared to be no sign, just the bark was ripped off in several places, baring the trunk of a lighter color. In addition to it there were strange dents on the trunk, and the tree itself stood leaning a bit, as if somebody – or something – tried to fell it.

"There's nothing here." Jan shook his head with disappointment, nodding at the tree. "From the bus it seemed to me that something was carved on the bark, but it turned out to be… just this."

"Oh, that's what you were talking about. It's a bad site."

"How's that?"

"It's very dangerous. See how abrupt the turn is here? It's very easy not to fit into it. And there's this tree."

Jan stared at the damaged trunk. "Who crashed into it?"

Irena shook her head gloomily. "Plenty of accidents here. The most recent, about a year and a half ago. Some company…gang…I don't know… had a joy-ride here. Night, bad weather…and they were drunk most likely."

"And?"

"And one guy was killed in that accident, and another was put in jail, as far as I know." Irena was silent for a moment. Then she added, "I hope he is not there now. Otherwise that would be completely unfair."

"Why?"

"Because the other two – or three? – who were in that car, managed to get off very easily."

Jan was thinking this information over, his eyes fixed on the ominous tree.

"Where do you know all this from? You speak as if you witnessed it."

"I didn't, it was in the papers. Haven't you read about it?"

"I don't remember… No, most likely."

Jan wondered what was eating him. Why did he feel so disturbed by Irena's words? As if he had some bad premonition. But he didn't know that gang at all, he never encountered it, and their ways will hardly ever cross. But in spite of all that he wanted to hope together with Irena, desperately hope that that guy completely unknown to him, a guy he heard for the first time about was free, and not in jail, as if it was vitally important for him personally. Or for Irena? Or…

The wind blew much harder now, it became penetrating and icy making his hair flutter and unpleasantly crawling under his jacket. Cars were dashing by one after another. At such a speed…

Jan started and shivered.

"Let's go away from here," he asked in a low voice.

He went quickly ahead, without waiting for the answer. Irena caught up with him.

"Cold?"

"Yes, I'm cold, just imagine this. And you are not?"

"I'm probably dressed warmer than you."

"Glad to hear that."

Irena looked at him intently. "Jan, no need to get angry."

He made a deep sigh trying to suppress a wave or irritation which was rising inside him. Irena, without saying a word, turned off the curb to a narrow path which resembled a bicycle road, leaving it up to him to decide whether to continue walking along the curb or to follow her. Jan chose the second option.

"Do you know why I always walk this part of the route?" Irena broke the silence one more time.

"You're afraid that the bus can also crash? Now I'll fear that, too. Thank you very much for it…"

"Jan, have you fulfilled your wish?" Irena suddenly asked ignoring his last phrase.

"Yes, I have!" He answered with a challenge in his voice. Then added, lowering his voice a little, "But I'd rather not."

"Well, what can I say to that," Irena sighed, "It's not said for nothing to be afraid of your own wishes. Jan, may I fulfill mine now?"

And before he could come with an answer she stopped and took him softly by the lapels of his jacket. Jan made no resistance. He couldn't resist her touches.

Irena looked at him keenly, drew his bangs off his face with her fingertips like she did occasionally, filling his heart with happiness every time.

Jan grasped her hand and squeezed it as if afraid that Irena will suddenly disappear like a dream, and he'd stay alone on that deserted road, open to this stinging wind, among the trees which stood silently here when he hasn't come into this world yet, and will stand when he leaves it.

This thought made him sad and frightened, and he squeezed Irena's hand tighter and closed his eyes. She put her left arm around his neck, and the next moment he felt his lips caught in a strong, yearning kiss, the tip of her tongue shoved his front teeth commandingly and insistently, making them part, and penetrated into his mouth – lithe, supple, warm, it patted and tickled his palate tenderly. Jan gasped at this unusual, unfamiliar, forbidden sensation.

And the next moment his past assailed him, pulling him off cloud nine back to earth and swamping him with a disgusting black wave. In his memory there emerged a paw, pressing him into the smooth wall with an iron grip and not letting him move, a brute mauling, bloodshot eyes, and a foul mouth poking into his scared, tear-stained face…

Jan twitched convulsively, sobbed, and pushed Irena away with an abrupt jerk. She nearly fell from it, recoiled, and stared at him, her look full of bewilderment. Bewilderment and pain.

"Jan, what happened? Was it unpleasant for you?"

He leant against a direction pole wearily, and sank slowly to the ground. He felt nausea and dizziness, and in addition to it something got into his eye, causing tears and not letting him blink. He rubbed his eye with his fist frenzidly, but it only made it worse. He cursed, voice muffled by tears and reached into his jacket pocket for handkerchief.

"A speck of dust, perhaps? Let me see."

"Don't touch me…"

He pulled his hand out awkwardly, not noticing that he'd accidentally turned the pocket inside out together with its contents. What he saw next was Irena squatting beside him and examining his pill jar, puzzled. He dashed forward.

"Give it back!"

The jar had no label, it wasn't attached properly and came off several days ago, so Irena couldn't have guessed what pills were those, but the fact that she saw them didn't promise anything good.

"Why do you carry pills with you? Are you ill?"

"No!"

"Why then?"

"I said, give it back to me!"

He unclenched her fingers rather roughly with one hand. She let him do this submissively and didn't say anything, just looked at him sadly. Jan pushed the jar back into his pocket.

"Let me see what's with your eye." Having noticed his movement, she added immediately, not letting him object anything, "I'll just look at what's the matter with your eye, and that's all. I won't touch you in any other way."

She uttered the last phrase in a deliberately slow and thorough manner, as if afraid that he wouldn't understand her.

"You even have a handkerchief? Great, because I haven't."

He only snuffled while she was turning his eyelid inside out and blotting the tears with a handkerchief.

"Just a moment, be patient, don't fidget… That's it."

Jan blinked. The unpleasant feeling was gone. Irena handed the handkerchief back to him.

"So fair that it can't be seen so easily."

He stared at the handkerchief. It was not a speck of dust, but an eyelash. Wet, thin and indeed very fair. Though, one might think he didn't know that he had such lashes.

"Thank you."

"You are welcome. Let's go, the bus stop is near, and the bus should arrive soon, if I haven't forgotten the schedule."

Irena started to pull him up grabbing him by the jacket and breaking her promise not to touch him.

"Stand up. How heavy you are…"

"Let me go, I'll stand up myself."

He got to his feet slowly. They reached the bus stop in the twilight, without exchanging a single word, and in the dimly lit bus they also kept silence for the rest of the way.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

They didn't talk anymore and didn't go anywhere that weekend – Irena was busy – and the next one Jan couldn't go out to his father at all. He had tired himself out with waiting during that week. Their walk along the deserted road left an unpleasant aftertaste, and he didn't doubt that Irena felt the same way as he did. Jan wanted to see her badly, to talk to her, to apologize for his idiotic behaviour… so that everything could return to normal, be as before, so that any estrangement didn't appear between them, and so that Irena wouldn't start thinking worse of him than before. That would be impossible to bear. It was so infinitely long to wait for the next Friday, and in the middle of the week he gave up and dialled Irena's number.

"Yes?" Marek said.

"Hi, Marek. Is Irena at home?"

"Nope."

"Listen, Marek, can you tell me one thing?"

"Yes, I can. What thing?"

"What school does Irena study at? I really need to see her."

Silence hung in the receiver.

"Marek, are you there? She asked you not to tell me, or what?"

It seemed to Jan that the eternity has passed before Marek finally answered.

"None…"

"How's that?"

"She works."

Jan was thinking the information over. Then asked carefully, "And… how old is she?"

"Seventeen. Jan, should I tell her that you called?"

"No, Marek. Don't tell her."

He hung up and for several minutes just stood in the hallway, completely stunned, eyes fixed at the phone table. It would have been better if he didn't call and didn't ask anything. The less you know, the calmer you sleep. Oh, don't tell him about sleeping…

He felt emptiness, great resentment, and something else, just as depressing; he couldn't find the name to.

Why did Irena dodge his questions, making him think she was at school? She could have just told the truth. She was treating him as an idiot, and had kept on doing that up to now. And he offered to do homework for her… Idiot is idiot.

Because of inertness and a certain amount of sluggishness in his nature he couldn't adapt so quickly to changes, he felt much more comfortable in a settled, habitual environment, and he had a hard time when that habitual environment suddenly turned upside down. Like what has just happened now.

And as far as that difference in age was concerned – three years, as it turned out to be – to the fourteen-year-old Jan it seemed a mere abyss. From the very beginning he thought Irena was his age by default, and now she appeared to be incomparably mature, and he seemed to himself small, naive, and silly, as never before. The most awful thing was that he won't be able to socialize with her the same way as before, because he will always feel the gap between them and incomprehension mixed with offence from being fooled.

And what if he just didn't show anything and tried to behave as if nothing happened?

For the first time in many weeks he was waiting for Friday not with impatience and joy, but with an unpleasant sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.

…

"You're somewhat strange today. What's the matter?"

He obviously didn't succeed much in his efforts to behave as if nothing had happened. Irena could see through him.

"Jan, don't be silent, please. Say something."

Jan was biting his lips. No, he won't succeed in pretending. He should clarify everything, there was no other option.

"Irena, why were you lying to me?" He asked in a low voice. "About school and about… how old you were."

Having said that, he shrank back expecting her to get indignant, angry, or to yell at him. Or first to be surprised at his being well-informed and then yell anyway.

She suddenly laughed with a strange laughter.

He turned his head, astonished.

"What's so funny here, Irena?"

"Was I lying to you about how old I was? I simply didn't tell you that."

"Why?"

"What do you mean, why? Because you didn't ask."

"I considered that you were like me."

"And now it turned out that I am not like you?"

"Yes. I mean, you… no…"

Jan fell silent, confused.

"Jan, before getting to know somebody, do you find out first how old that person is?"

"No, but…"

"And besides, if you knew that from the very beginning, you'd freak out and wouldn't even approach me. At first you didn't have any knowledge of that kind, and shunned me nevertheless."

Jan wanted to object, but only hung his head. Yeah, that was all true.

"And what, please tell me, are you are worried about now?"

"That you regard me as small child."

"Uhum. And what else?"

"That you will treat me like… like Marek, for example. And all in all – that you are you… and I am… what I am."

"What a fool you are, Jan, indeed. I should have really told you the truth before you started to question my brother." She shook her head. "Sometimes you behave as if you two shared one brain."

"If I'm so dull, why do you keep on being friends with me?" Jan looked straight ahead with a fixed gaze. Then he said tonelessly, "As soon as you find someone better than me, you'll stay with him. And you won't even remember me."

"What..?"

"And you won't even remember me," He repeated like a wounded toy.

Irena grabbed him by his shoulders.

"What are you raving about? Have you chewed the wrong pill?"

Jan blushed and clenched his fists.

"Don't you dare!"

"And I _will_ dare. What are you going to do to me then?"

He relaxed his fingers slowly. Of course he won't do anything to Irena, how could she even assume…

"You don't know anything!"

"There's nothing to know about here."

Hurt by the words about the wrong pill and completely lost because the conversation sucked and everything was going to hell, he said the thing which would never come to his mind in his normal state. But right now his state was far from normal.

"And maybe it's not me who you like, but my father?"

Irena gaped at this. At first she seemed to think she misheard something. When Jan's words finally registered in her mind, which took her several seconds, she suddenly hauled off and slapped his face so hard that ringing came to his ears and his cap nearly fell off his head. He shook his head slightly and stood silent, pressing the back of his palm to his burning cheek. He dared to meet Irena's eyes and regretted that immediately. It would have been better to get one more blow than such a look. Then she uttered slowly.

"And I thought you were a friend of mine."

"And I thought… I was more than a friend of yours."

With these words he turned and, stumbling on the frozen, stone-hard ground, trudged slowly away.

His walk home was like a bad dream, and he nearly got into a car accident on his way. A car managed to brake with a terrible squeaking sound, and still the push of the bumper was enough to knock Jan off his feet. The driver, who was scared shitless, yelled something about the pedestrian's absence of brains and of the desire to stay in this world a bit longer. All those yells were reaching Jan's ears as if through a layer of cotton. He just rose to his feet and trudged on. Yes, perhaps he didn't have either anymore, but he didn't care any longer, he just wanted to be left alone.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

He lay flat on the bed, turning away towards the wall. Feeling as if a stone slab was weighed down on him from above, not letting him move his arm or his foot, not to mention standing up. He didn't feel like doing anything, only lying, lying motionless. But that wasn't his wish either; just the massive black slab didn't leave any choice. Or it was utter darkness, deepened, thickened to almost tangible and paralyzing his limbs. So icy cold. It soaked into his skin, and Jan tried to curl up into a ball and hide his hands up to the fingertips into the sleeves of his sweatshirt, but seemed to fail, subdued by the weakness. He could only open his eyes for not long, and then they were closing again. For some time it seemed to him that the gloom cleared a little, but after that it got dark again.

…

And in that new, in that other darkness somebody sat down carefully beside him and touched his shoulder. The gentle touch broke the cold heavy slab, letting him turn his head.

Irena.

Jan sat up with an effort, leaning heavily against the wall with his shoulder and head. Sitting up he discovered that he had been lying under the plaid blanket. So light and warm, not itchy at all. His dad obviously entered the room and covered him with it at some moment Jan couldn't remember. But why was it so cold then?

Irena reached for the wall lamp hanging above the bed.

"Please, don't," Jan asked, and didn't recognize his own voice; it sounded so strange. It was hard to speak, his throat was parched.

"Wait, Jan. Be right back." Obeying his request, she didn't turn the light above the bed on, but left the room and returned quickly, carrying something.

"Here you are."

It was a cup filled with hot tea. Jan grabbed it quickly, warming his frozen fingers and inhaling the fragrant, lemon-flavored steam.

"Please, drink at least some of it, you're all icy."

Jan took a big gulp of delicious, strong, burning hot tea, and nearly choked on it. Suddenly he realized that he was extremely thirsty.

"Careful, don't burn your mouth."

Pleasant warmth began to fill his body. Now his voice won't be so strange, and it will be easier to speak. He needed to ask…

"Irena… and… why have you come?"

"Because I feared for you. And because you would never do that first."

He only whiffed. That was true, of course. He would never be able to bring himself to take the first step towards reconcilement. He felt terribly ashamed.

"Irena… I beg your pardon for what I said today."

"Today? Jan, that was yesterday."

He stared at her with incomprehension. His eyes got used to the semi-darkness completely, and he could see her face without any difficulty.

"I called you today, wanted to talk normally, and your dad said that you were lying like a stone since yesterday, without standing up, without eating, without speaking. If you only heard what a frightened voice he had… I was scared, too, and asked for permission to come here. I hoped you would do me a favor and talk with me, since you refused talking with your father."

So that's it.

"Did he call mom?" Jan asked anxiously.

"I don't know. But I think he didn't. Otherwise, she'd be already here. But just a little time more and he most likely couldn't help calling her. So, I've interfered just in time."

Irena held out her hand and took a cup from him.

"I'll bring you some more tea, OK?"

"No, later. Thank you. I -"

"What, Jan?"

"We need to talk yet."

"Sure. Who will start?"

Jan sighed. So much that he wanted to say, so much that he needed to say, but because of the muddle in his thoughts and feelings he couldn't concentrate properly. He could never boast of very smooth speaking, and right now he was at a loss. He still resented Irena and couldn't, or, rather, didn't have enough time to get used to what he had found out. And what if she held something else back?

"Jan, what are you thinking about? Honestly."

"I'm thinking about what else you could hold back?" He answered, feeling himself a complete idiot for god knows what time.

Irena laughed quietly.

"I don't like that word, Jan, but I swear I don't hold anything else back. And you?"

"Me..?"

"Yes, you. What about pills?"

Jan closed his eyes.

"Nothing about them."

"Um, and you say that you don't hold anything back. You can safely tell me, don't you think?"

"Well, it just… happened so."

Irena looked at him, waiting for continuation. Of course, such an answer couldn't satisfy her. Jan didn't say anything for some time, looking for the right words.

"It's since I ran away from home. Remember, I told you once that I did. When I returned, I fell ill. I was ill for about four weeks. I…just had a very hard time, to keep it short. With a fever, high temperature, and all… Then I got well somehow, but I wasn't _well_ any longer. I slept badly, began to be afraid of darkness, asked mom and dad not to switch the light off for the night. I didn't even want to stay in the room alone. I cried all the time. I was just scared, not only because of darkness…and I felt bad."

Jan fell silent, looking straight ahead. Irena didn't take her eyes off him.

"Why did you begin to fear?"

"I just began… Mom and dad asked all the time, what was happening to me, and I answered that I didn't know. Yelled at them. They would have never understood anyway…" Jan rubbed his eyes. "Once I couldn't sleep for half a night, and at last mom gave me a pill, I calmed down and fell asleep quickly. And another time a dad's friend came to our place, he scared me, well, not for real, just as a joke, and that made me so furious I attacked him with my fists. After that mom took me to the doctor, he said that I had a nervous breakdown, and prescribed me pills, too."

Jan felt silent again.

"And what happened then?" Irena asked softly.

"Then…you know, they were effective."

"And maybe it just seemed to you so?"

He looked into Irena's face quickly. "No. It didn't seem. And now-"

"And now you depend on them."

"No!"

"What else do you call it then? When you snatched them out of my hand there on the road, I simply didn't recognize you. I thought you'd kill me for them."

"I just need them to be with me."

"And that's all?"

"That's all."

"Jan, can you not carry them with you? Quit them? Any moment?"

At first Jan wanted to answer "sure" immediately, and to promise solemnly, "I swear on my life that I won't touch them anymore", but he remembered his mom's words just in time, words that one mustn't swear on his life. She once said that if you give such an oath and break it, you may die. And he'll break it for sure. He didn't have enough will to keep it. That's why he only dropped his eyes and didn't answer.

"How long ago did it all happen, Jan?"

"In winter it'll be two years."

"And you are on pills for almost two years?"

"Well, not all the time. At first I was taking those that doctor had prescribed me. Then found those mom once gave me. Just took them from the first aid kit."

"And your parents haven't noticed anything?"

"If they did, they'd probably hide the kit."

"And what happened next, Jan?"

"Next… well, I tried other stuff, too. Mom has reference guides on them. She's a pharmacy assistant, I told you once… There's the information about each and every of them. I asked for them in pharmacies, in different ones, well, so that nobody remembered me. Something they didn't have at all, something they refused to sell to me. But from time to time I was lucky."

"And your mom didn't suspect anything?"

"I guess not."

"And your dad?"

"If she didn't, he even more so. And once I faked the prescription." Jan smiled with a barely noticeable smile. "Found a stamped form in mom's bag and took it."

He fell silent for another time. Irena didn't say anything, either, shocked by his story.

"Oh, well…" She managed at last, "It's a good thing that your mom is not an expert in weapons. Or in explosives."

Jan's eyes flashed angrily, and Irena noticed that, in spite of the twilight crawling off about the room.

"Don't get offended, please; I'm not laughing at you. I'm just shocked, honestly. It's actually surprising you didn't get medication poisoning with all that."

"I had it once." Jan shivered and clutched the blanket. "I was scared that I was going to die if I… if not…"

"Yeah, yeah, I got it. I don't need all the details, don't worry."

"I had a terrible fright then, and didn't touch them for a while." Jan lifted his eyes and looked at Irena. "And I almost stopped swallowing them when I met you. Because I felt good."

"And now?"

"What?"

"How do you feel right now?"

"Right now I don't feel anything. I'm tired."

"Me too. I'm after work. So we're friends again?"

"Yes, sure."

"Great. But we haven't finished yet."

"Haven't finished?"

"No. What happened to you when you ran away?"

Jan buried his face in his knees.

"Jan-"

"That's enough, Irena."

"Somebody has scared you? Offended?"

"Stop it!"

"Jan, just tell me. I beg you."

…Soft, quiet Irena's voice transported him from the room, from his bed to the ice-covered railroad platform, to the train, standing with its doors open, which he entered attracted by the warm yellow light in the windows of the car.

He stood in front of the train attendant's compartment, the door of which wasn't closed tightly, and tried to peep into the remaining gap. Wanted to stay here, while it was sleeting outside, and then go somewhere else. Somewhere. But not home…

After knocking quietly, he carefully pushed the door aside a bit more.

In a poky compartment sat a heavy man with a bottle of beer. Having noticed some movement with a corner of his eye, he looked up at Jan who stood without letting the door handle go.

"What do you want?"

"May I… warm myself here for a while?"

"Where did you spring from?" the man asked. His speech was a bit slurred.

Jan shrugged vaguely. The man rose heavily, approached him, stretched out his hand, and drew Jan's cap off, pulling it upwards with his index finger and thumb. Jan glanced at the attendant inquiringly with his usual glance, through his bangs down to his eyes. The attendant played with his cap, looking at it with interest, as if he saw such a kind for the first time.

"What a sweet boy," he uttered, looking Jan over, "like a girl."

Jan scowled.

"Don't compare me to girls," he said sullenly.

"Whatever you say," the man grinned, "well, get in, sit down, and be my guest."

Jan took a step forward and settled down on the seat. The man flopped down beside him, putting almost all his weight on him.

"Tell me," he demanded, bending over to Jan's very face and reeking of stale alcohol.

"About what?"

"Where do such kids come to our city from?"

"From nowhere, actually," Jan answered, "I live here."

He started to rise from the seat, about to take his cap which lay on the shelf-like table together with left-overs, but the man pushed him back with one jerk.

"Leaving too early."

Pinning Jan to the wall with an iron grip and puffing, he began to unbutton the fly on his pants with his free hand. Jan, struck dumb with fear, tried to dodge and to shield his face, into which the unshaven, stinking snout was poking. Tears were streaming down his cheeks; he was unable to find his tongue after realizing what was awaiting him. He managed to take control over his voice somehow and begged:

"Let me go…"

"Stop squealing."

"Let me go, please…"

"Shut up, you rat bastard, or I'll cram a really big nipple into your gob."

His tormentor spat into his hand and rubbed his cock thoroughly with it. Jan felt weak, everything went dark before his eyes when he saw that gross, slippery piece of flesh that was about to get into him…

Coarse voices reaching his ears from outside the door seemed an unhoped-for deliverance to him. Voices were shouting something about the railway station master. The newcomers were obviously looking for the attendant, because he swore, pushed his equipment back into his pants and ran out of the compartment.

…

…He was sitting on the bed again; his knees against his chest, hiding his face, and Irena hugged him carefully.

"Jan, calm down…"

It remained only to hope that she understood his incoherent explanations. He usually couldn't describe things very well, not to mention describing _that_. Answering questions was easier. She had better ask. If she still had such a desire after all that.

"And you didn't tell anybody?"

"Of course, not."

"Even your parents?"

"They would have never understood. Would have said it was my fault. Would have started to despise me."

"Don't you think you are mistaken?"

"Wouldn't _you_?.."

Irena gripped his shoulders tighter. "Jan, look here. And listen to me attentively. I feel about you just the same as in the very beginning. As yesterday. And as an hour ago. Nothing has changed, do you get it?"

Jan scowled at her, cautiously and distrustfully. "I couldn't feel about myself the same as before."

"Why?"

"I hated myself for what had happened to me. And I hate myself now." Jan tensed. "Probably somebody else would have forgotten about that long ago, and remained the same. But I can't."

Irena didn't interrupt him, feeling that he hasn't yet voiced everything that was eating him.

"It also seemed to me all the time that everyone knew what had happened to me. Or guessed. Whispered behind my back and pointed their fingers in my direction." He shook his head slowly. "I don't know what might have been if he… had done what he intended to. Probably, I wouldn't be sitting here. I couldn't have lived with that at all. But, like it is now, it's not much better. Probably, things will never be normal for me…"

Irena held him tight without saying a word. Jan tried to release himself.

"Don't-"

He felt that if she kept on hugging him, he couldn't bear it and would simply burst into tears. But Irena didn't let him go. Pressing him to her heart, she started to stroke his hair, his shoulders, and his back. And Jan didn't restrain himself anymore. Hugging Irena around her neck and clutching her sweater, he cried. At first he didn't feel anything except anguish and desperation, but little by little they were passing off, leaving him, giving their place up to warmth and hope.

When he cried his heart out, he barely had any strength left; he was dead tired, many hours of rest would still be necessary to recover completely. This talk had exhausted Irena as much, right now she felt even worse than he did, having shared his fears and sufferings.

To reward and to thank her for that relief she brought him Jan touched her cheek softly with his and squeezed her hands. He hoped that she'll have enough time for rest.

"Look, Jan," Irena suddenly whispered into his ear, "it's snowing."

Jan turned his head. Behind the window in the yellow street light long-awaited snowflakes were swirling slowly.

Sniffing from time to time and not letting go of Irena's hand he kept looking at them, as if spellbound. Tears were drying on his cheeks.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

**December 1985**

The city was preparing for Christmas. Snow had covered all the yards, parks, and public gardens, and continued falling from the sky in thick, downy flakes. Streets were crowded; the pre-holiday bustle was felt in the air. Friday, past midday, the rush-hour was about to begin. Crowds were flooding the shops, flowing towards the subway through the underground crossing, jumping into buses and trams.

Jan was walking together with the stream of people, slightly more noticeable among others with his bright-coloured ski cap and the incredibly long striped scarf carelessly wound around his neck, with its ends sticking out from beneath his half-zipped jacket.

Squinting slightly from snowflakes landing on his lashes, he was looking around the festive street, decorated for the holiday. He stopped by one of the shop windows, noticing in it among the hung-out garlands and Christmas balls a wonderful thing – a snow globe. Last year he saw a couple of them too, maybe even in this very window. In one there was a tiny ancient castle, in the other – a Christmas tree, a miniature copy of the one at the main square.

This globe differed from those two. Strictly speaking, it didn't have anything referring to Christmas or to New Year – neither inscriptions, nor decorations. Inside it stood a snowman – exactly of the kind it is usually depicted: three lumps of snow set one upon another, orange nose carrot, something black on his head, with its form reminding him of a minuscule flattened bucket. The minuscule broom was stuck into the snowman's side. The crumbs of foam plastic (or whatever the snow was made of) covered the globe's bottom with a thick white layer. In the "snow" two thin lines going parallel to each other could be seen. Ski tracks.

It was quite an unusual globe. Jan wanted to shake it, so that he could see those snowy flakes swirling, and then landing slowly. Suddenly he noticed one more strange thing about it. One of the snow crumbs wasn't white, but of some indiscriminate color, as if painted. Or maybe it was not the same material, but a grain of something else which got behind the glass together with the handful of foam crumbs. Jan stood by the window and peered into the small world inside the glass dome until somebody carrying a huge Christmas tree asked him to step aside – the street which the shop window faced was very narrow in this part.

Finally tearing himself away from contemplating the window, Jan went on his way. He'd definitely bring Irena here and show the globe to her – It's most likely just for decoration here, and was not on sale, otherwise it would have been bought long ago. He was also planning to go to the main square – it was so beautiful there now - to gather some fir tree boughs near the Christmas tree market, and to ski in the park with Irena tomorrow, or maybe even today, if things turned out well.

There was so much left to do.

…

"Do you know what impression I've had during the last few days?" Irena asked.

"No. What?"

"That somebody is following me."

Jan raised his eyebrows slightly. "What… following? Who?"

"If only I knew. The sensation is as if they are watching. I don't know…like…trying to make me out."

"But… maybe you are imagining it?"

"Imagining it? Jan, I'm in my right mind. Never in my life have I had such a feeling, and now I have it. I got so sick of it last night that I stopped in the street and asked loudly, "What do you want from me?"

"And what happened?"

"Nothing, of course. But I didn't expect to receive an answer right there, in the middle of the street anyway."

Jan looked attentively around, saw nothing out of the ordinary, and made a helpless gesture.

"And right now you have this sensation, too?"

Irena touched the white fur ear muffs which served as a winter hat to her, adjusting them.

"Yes, right now too."

Jan didn't know what to answer to that. He looked into Irena's anxious face and had no idea what she was talking about. As for him, he didn't have any unpleasant sensations since he'd regained his composure, and felt good now, except that he was aching all over after yesterday's long time skiing – it was for the first time this year.

By the way, in the park yesterday, when it almost got dark, Irena suddenly stopped at one of the turns.

"We'd better not go this way."

"OK. But why?"

"It's barely illuminated."

"So what? We won't lose our way." Jan smiled, but Irena remained serious.

"Recently I saw something… somebody there. In the snow."

Jan didn't understand.

"Well, if I say it like that, it will certainly sound like complete nonsense. Somebody was there. At first it seemed to me that the snow was moving. He…it was like a part of the background, because it was white all over…or in white. It wriggled there in the snowdrifts like… a maggot of some kind. Only it was human-sized."

This explanation sent shivers down Jan's spine. He didn't have any doubts about Irena's words – she would never make up anything like that. And it was highly unlikely just her imagination, she wasn't one of those who started seeing things which never existed after hearing or reading too much of scary stories. So, she had really seen something. But _what_ was it? When she just mentioned that she'd seen something in the snow, he immediately wanted to suggest going there and look together, but after her explanation he realized he won't go that way. He was never too bold or determined, and turned back without objecting much.

On the contrary, her words about shadowing and watching scared him not in the least, rather, intrigued. Who knows, he thought, maybe somebody was following him too (though, on the other hand, who on earth would need to spy on him?), but he would have never noted that shadowing, because he was too focused on himself. Gee, even if ten people lined up into a column right behind him, he wouldn't have noticed them at once. Irena was much more open to the outside world than him, that's why she sensed something was wrong. It wouldn't hurt to find out who took it into his head to follow her and scare her. And what it was there, in the park, on that poorly illuminated path…

…

Irena left soon, saying she had things to do. Jan, after some aimless wandering, turned towards home.

Having scarcely entered the yard, he stopped, looking perplexedly at the big, of about his height, snowman which grew as if by itself just in the center of the playground. Some children were frolicking around, but it was obviously not their work.

Jan approached, examining the heavy-looking black cooking-pot crammed on the snowman's head. In addition to the pot and the classic carrot the snowman was decorated with "buttons" – pieces of thick branch lined in a vertical row on the middle snow lump. One "button" fell out and now was lying at the foot of the snowman. Jan picked it up absent-mindedly and wanted to stick it back into place, when he suddenly noticed that the thing he picked up wasn't a piece of wood.

It was an oblong metal whistle. To blow that whistle in the frost would be the best of ideas, aha… Jan was about to hail the playing children and to ask who of them lost it, but what he saw in the next moment made him part his fingers and step back.

Half-covered by the newly-fallen snow already, but still noticeable enough. Imprints of skis in the snow.

He has seen all this earlier. Shrunk to a tiny copy.

Jan was backing away until he ran into a bench. He sat down, or, rather, fell down onto it and clutched the wooden seat, hardly keeping from reaching out to make sure that he won't touch the glass walls of a dome grown around him, and slowly, forcing himself to do that, he looked up, almost expecting the lucid liquid substance to pour down from the sky together with snowflakes, drowning him and making him forever a prisoner of the giant flask.

His hand suddenly began aching from stinging cold. Jan looked down at his own fingers gripping the edge of the seat so hard it made his knuckles turn white and saw, _saw_ the grayish icy crust forming on the bench's surface. It was crawling closer and closer…

What the hell was going on here?

Jerking his hand back, Jan sprang to his feet and rushed home headlong.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

_**A/N: **This chapter is unedited so far. Any suggestions on beta reading would be greatly appreciated._

* * *

><p>"Jan, are you going anywhere for Christmas?"<p>

They were sitting on the carpet in the living-room at Irena's place and sorting the box with Christmas decorations out. Fur tree boughs which Jan had gathered near the Christmas tree market, as he intended, now stood in a vase on the table like a thick flower bunch.

"For celebration? Mom will go to her friends' place, as far as I know. And take me with her."

"Against your will?"

"Well, not quite, I don't care where to go, actually, as long as they don't pester me too much with their talks and questions there."

Irena smiled, examining the funny decoration which looked like a wrapped gift – something small of the cubic form in coloured foil and tied with a narrow ribbon. The "gift" looked so natural that Jan barely kept from pulling the ribbon and unwrapping the foil.

"Oh, by the way," he remembered the news he didn't share yet, "look what I've received."

He took a piece of strong blue-gray paper out of his shirt pocket.

"'Invitation'," Irena read aloud, "'to the special training course at The Wolf's Hole ski lodge.' Hm! Interesting."

"Yeah," Jan nodded, "and strange a bit."

"Strange?"

"Why was it sent to _me_?"

"Why not? And who sent it?"

"I don't know. That's the point."

"Well, it has an address on it. And a phone number. When you go to pay for it, you'll get all the details, I'm sure. It arrived by mail?"

"Yeah, took it from the mailbox."

"Here?"

"No, at home. I mean, at mom's."

"And what did she say?"

"Well, nothing special. But she is yet to say…"

"What do you mean?"

"She will constantly ask me, "Honza, and you aren't going to run away?", "Swear that you won't leave me." Until when is she going to remind me?" Jan stood up quickly and turned away towards the window.

Irena came up to him, and hugged him around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder. Jan rubbed his cheek gently up against her hair which was loose now. One of her bright fluffy hair holders, almost always arranging her hair into a neat ponytail was around her wrist now. Jan thrust his fingertips, as if unintentionally, under that terry rim, soft, but pretty tight. It even left an imprint on her skin… The touch on Irena's arm made Jan feel as if an electric current ran through his body. He could get everything from this touch – from intense excitement to the utmost relief, to bliss splashing out in pushes… It was quite enough for that. And Irena knew pretty well what was going on with him, because she was hugging him. His cheeks and neck felt hot. So be it… And did he ever tell Irena that she looked much better with her hair being loose? No, he didn't. Tell her now, maybe? No, a bit later. So, what were they talking about?

"You know," Jan broke the silence until he lost the thread of his thoughts completely, "I asked in my class, and at school in general who else had received such an invitation. Nobody, as it turned out."

"But it's even more interesting that way. Isn't it?"

"Well, it depends," Jan disagreed, and added after a short pause, "Pity you haven't received one, too."

Irena muttered something unintelligible in response.

"Irena, is somebody still watching you?"

"Watching?"

"Um, well, following. Remember, you told me?"

"Oh. Actually, no. Looks like they buzzed off. I still have no idea what it was. And I will most likely never know."

"But, on the other hand, it's good they buzzed off. I didn't know what to think already."

"It's good, of course. Just some uncertainty remained."

"Now I have uncertainty, too," Jan said with a frown. "It's unclear who and what's going to be there, at the lodge."

"All of you will be cut off from the outer world…" Irena suddenly uttered with a thoughtful air.

She was looking out the window, but her expression was sort of odd, as if she saw not the yard and not the wall of the next-door house, but something else, something that Jan was not able to see. Her words echoed in his ears, and in them one could sense that very uncertainty and suspense, and some unknown danger, and hopeless isolation imprisoned in cold… Jan shook his head, trying to get rid of the obsession.

"Why cut off?" He asked as cheerfully as he could. "And what the cableway is for?"

"A cableway is a cableway, but apart from it some other means of communication are necessary, too." Irena finally stopped looking somewhere into the distance and glanced at Jan. "So, as far as I understand, you aren't very much thrilled by this invitation."

"Well, I'd rather stayed here." Jan shifted from foot to foot awkwardly, as if tired of standing. "Holidays begin, after all. We could meet every day. Or almost every day. Well, if you are not against it, of course. As for me, I'd be glad to anytime."

"Jan, I'm leaving."

"For the holidays?" he asked automatically before he realized the absurdity of his own question. What holidays could she have, she wasn't a student.

"For good. Leaving the city."

He stared at her with incomprehension. She dropped her eyes and was now looking at the window sill.

"The manager fired my mom. I always said he was a wanker."

"But… but he didn't fire _you_!"

"He didn't hire me officially, either. I wasn't in the staff."

"But why leave the city? There's no work here, or what?"

"Jan, tell it to my mom. Our relatives, as soon as they knew what has happened, yelled, "Come to us!" Even found her a job, if they aren't kidding. As for her, she wanted to move to them for a long time. And now the right opportunity arose."

At that moment the real meaning of Irena's words registered in Jan's head completely. When he realized the full horror and inevitability of the situation, all he had energy for was to move away from her silently, sink onto the carpet, and hide his face in his palms. The thing she said sounded like a verdict to him. It was as if somebody stunned him, striking him on the head with something blunt and heavy. He felt a heavy burden of despair oppressing him again, despair he existed with for god knows how long before meeting Irena. At that time he didn't feel that he was living, at all. There were only prostration and indifference to everything around him. "You are like numb," Irena said, patting him on the head for the first time. "Thaw," she asked, encountering his cold wariness and appalled by it. He tried to become himself for such a long time, and was coming towards it for so long. The world which became brighter for him then, with the first snow, when for everyone it was the beginning of night, and for him the break of day, now faded again, as if the picture in a color TV was devoid of all colors with one turn of the brightness knob. Why did she get him out of that state – to return him to it again just by means of several words?

Jan sat on the floor, burying his face in his hands. Tears pressed between his fingers. Irena tried to calm him down, immediately squatting beside him, she was telling something to him, convincing him of something, but he barely heard her. He just thought, thought with shudder about that nearest future when she won't be here anymore. He didn't even want to ask where was she leaving for, he feared to know that, and did it really matter after all, if she won't be _here_.

With his reasonable part he understood that he behaved like a little one, he was ready to cling to her and to whine, "Don't leave, please, don't leave" – and he did really say so, – but he couldn't keep from doing that.

Now Jan understood his own father, who was afraid to stay alone, as good as he never did before.

...

"Honza, it's not done like that. Make a list and mark what you've already taken."

"I can do without a list."

"You will forget to take half of the things without a list."

"Mom, please, leave me alone."

After returning from his father's home Jan immediately began packing for the trip. There was a day and a half left until the beginning of the course.

The things that he intended to take, from sleeping bag to small articles like handkerchief and comb were now piled up on the sofa. Jan simply loitered around the apartment, and when he remembered what else did he need to take, he just found that thing and added it to the pile. His mother, who was watching his preparations silently for a while, finally decided to interfere.

"You've quarrelled with dad?"

"_I_ didn't quarrel with anybody."

"Why are you so upset?"

"I'm just the same as always."

"No, Honza, not as always. What happened?"

For some time Jan just stood, head down, hands in his pockets. Then he said in a low voice, "Irena left."

"Oh. So that's it. But I suppose she promised to call you?"

"Yes, she did. But she is not _here_ anymore, can you understand that? And it's not known when I see her again."

"So, now you'll stop visiting dad because of this?"

"Mom, you two have conspired, or what?"

"You know pretty well that we haven't talked for ages."

"Why do you both ask the same things then?" After a short pause he added in a low voice, "It's good that I'm leaving."

"With the mood you are in now it's better not to go anywhere at all."

"And you would be glad to not let me go."

"Honza, frankly speaking, with you I have less and less reasons for being glad."

Jan didn't answer anything to that, he just flinched, as if from pain. Flinched barely noticeable, but his mother noticed it still. Knowing that a carelessly dropped phrase could become a time bomb for him and affect his actions in the future, on a second thought she hugged him awkwardly.

"Son, forgive me, please."

"For what, really?"

"Honza, I am sorry. I didn't mean it."

"I know, mom." Jan released himself from her hug. "I'll go buy batteries," he said, changing the subject.

"What batteries?"

"For the flashlight."

"It has batteries in it."

"They are almost dead."

"Honza, I'll go buy them myself a bit later, ok? Let's have lunch first, everything is ready."

"I don't want to. I need to pack."

"You have enough time left. And I will help you. Let's go. Please."

"OK, mom, you go, and I will in a minute."

She lingered a bit, as if wanted to say something else, but said nothing and went to the kitchen.

Jan squatted beside the armchair where the cat had rolled herself up into a warm cosy ball. She was sleeping on his scarf, putting her paws round it.

Jan dragged the scarf out from under her carefully. Looked thoughtfully at the two tight knots tied close to its both ends, and a faint smile touched his lips. He didn't remember himself already when and how these knots appeared. Neat Irena always wanted to untie them. Last time it was yesterday. Jan didn't let her do that. "You'll untie them when you come back," he said. And she looked attentively into his eyes. And nodded.

Nodded.

Jan hid the scarf into the sleeve of his jacket which hung in the hallway, and headed for the kitchen. When he appeared in the doorway, his mom looked at him inquiringly, noticing that he was smiling. He only moved his shoulders awkwardly in response. On the kitchen table he saw a matchbox and, remembering that he hadn't taken matches yet, he opened the drawer and got another matchbox.

"Honza, where are you going again? Sit down, everything is getting cold."

"I'm coming."

He returned to the living-room and threw the matchbox onto the sofa, to the rest of the things. As for him, he didn't need matches at all, but, as far as he knew, they were a necessary item for such kind of trips.

You will be cut off from the outer world, said Irena.

So what? And what if nothing really keeps you in this "outer world"?

Who built the Wolf's Hole? Maybe those who wished that "cut-offness" and wanted to keep away from the world, even if not for long? Because by no means everybody belongs here.

Cut off from the outer world…

Perhaps, that's even for the better?..

_Aug-Oct 2011_


End file.
